


Reservoirs

by Rosie_Rues



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: dogdaysofsummer, F/M, Hogwarts Era, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-01
Updated: 2009-09-01
Packaged: 2017-10-22 19:03:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 39,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/241474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosie_Rues/pseuds/Rosie_Rues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the blazing summer of 1976, Sirius Black escapes from his family with information about Voldemort's latest plot. But Dumbledore is missing from Hogwarts and it's up to the Marauders and Lily to find out what's happened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For Day One, prompt: _the powder of ash still untracked / beneath the enormous trees_ all tangled up with folk memories of the summer of '76 and [Reservoirs that are the subconscious of a people](http://www.abandonedcommunities.co.uk/page77.html).
> 
> Author's commentary: [1](http://rosemaryandrue.livejournal.com/56944.html#cutid1) [2](http://rosemaryandrue.livejournal.com/57131.html#cutid1) [3](http://rosemaryandrue.livejournal.com/57424.html#cutid1) [4](http://rosemaryandrue.livejournal.com/57664.html#cutid1) [5](http://rosemaryandrue.livejournal.com/57911.html#cutid1) [6](http://rosemaryandrue.livejournal.com/58294.html#cutid1) [7](http://rosemaryandrue.livejournal.com/58418.html#cutid1) [8](http://rosemaryandrue.livejournal.com/58842.html?#cutid1) [9](http://rosemaryandrue.livejournal.com/59087.html#cutid1) [10](http://rosemaryandrue.livejournal.com/59281.html) [11](http://rosemaryandrue.livejournal.com/59599.html) [12](http://rosemaryandrue.livejournal.com/59662.html#cutid1) [13](http://rosemaryandrue.livejournal.com/59967.html#cutid1) [14](http://rosemaryandrue.livejournal.com/60374.html#cutid1) [15](http://rosemaryandrue.livejournal.com/60493.html#cutid1) [16](http://rosemaryandrue.livejournal.com/60815.html#cutid1) [17](http://rosemaryandrue.livejournal.com/61007.html#cutid1) [18](http://rosemaryandrue.livejournal.com/61389.html#cutid1) [19](http://rosemaryandrue.livejournal.com/61864.html#cutid1) [20 & 21](http://rosemaryandrue.livejournal.com/62201.html#cutid1) [22](http://rosemaryandrue.livejournal.com/62211.html#cutid1) [23](http://rosemaryandrue.livejournal.com/62605.html#cutid1) [24](http://rosemaryandrue.livejournal.com/62877.html#cutid1) [25](http://rosemaryandrue.livejournal.com/63223.html#cutid1) [26](http://rosemaryandrue.livejournal.com/63265.html#cutid1) [27](http://rosemaryandrue.livejournal.com/63687.html#cutid1) [28](http://rosemaryandrue.livejournal.com/63770.html#cutid1) [29](http://rosemaryandrue.livejournal.com/64098.html#cutid1) [30](http://rosemaryandrue.livejournal.com/64258.html#cutid1) [31](http://rosemaryandrue.livejournal.com/64596.html)

In 1976, everything burned.

Every morning Remus woke with the taste of ash lingering on his lips. The air was full of smoke. Sometimes the fires were distant, grey plumes rising between the mountains to stain the ever-cloudless skies. Sometimes they were closer, filling the air until ash came sifting down like snow.

His mother sat on the windowsill, watching the smoke crawl with weary eyes, muttering spells to keep the danger from their door. She began to hoard food, stacking tins in the cellar that flooded every winter.

His father was gone with the dawn, obsessively walking the edges of the reservoir, measuring the drop in its levels. The water had been falling for sixteen months, creeping back from the green banks.

All day long, Remus could hear the sirens crying out over the valleys. From the rocks behind the cottage he could see them, red engines racing along the valley road and Army Green Goddesses screaming their way to and from the water’s edge, soldiers armed with pumps spilling out with terrible urgency.

Everyone he loved was a hundred miles away or more. He carried his books up the mountain or to the water’s edge each day, depending on the wind and the smoke, but he spent more time watching the sky and the valley than he did reading.

And to him came the owls.

Lily wrote, from Màlaga, _I went to the Wizarding Quarter here, and they only saw me as a British tourist. I had forgotten how it felt to be a witch and not be afraid._ James, in his grandmother’s villa on the Riviera, sent postcards of the beach with naked women drawn on with blotchy ink, scrawled with exaggerated anecdotes and capitalised exclamations (and always, sometimes mid-sentence, _Have you heard from Padfoot?_ ) Peter, never much of a correspondent, sent laconic little notes from Margate - _Weather v. hot. DE attack in next village. Helped clear up. Nasty._

Every day _The Prophet_ carried the same mix of stories, the heatwave and the growing death toll entangled in newsprint. The Muggle papers swung between humourous stories of the heat and fear of drought and thirst.

Sometimes, too rarely, other messages came, an overloaded owl beating its way out of the dust and smoke. Remus never knew what to expect. Sometimes there was a note, in jagged writing, all anger and obscenities without explanation. Sometimes it was just a crumpled takeaway menu or torn bus ticket, tiny hints of stolen freedom. Once the letter reformed in his hands, becoming a tiny origami hippogriff which flew around his head, pulling his hair with its paper beak. Once, right at the start of the long vacation, he got a whole bundle of letters and a scribbled note which read, _Owl will be missed in an hour. Send these on for me. Ta, S._

Sometimes the owl came without anything. Sometimes it didn’t come for days, and he prepared the letters which would alert James and Peter, bracing himself to launch a rescue which might tip the other side’s terrorism into outright war.

Always, though, another owl came in time, with some new, mysterious scrap of correspondence.

Sometimes, at nights, too hot to sleep, he spread out everything Sirius had sent him. He rearranged notes and scraps and spells into new patterns, creating stories in his head to explain what Sirius was doing, how he was surviving in that house, with those people. Sometimes, he imagined the rescue that would eventually come, how Sirius would be so desperate to see them, so _grateful_. Or perhaps he would be forceful, leading them against his villainous family like a hero, as if a thunderstorm had taken human shape. And then, sometimes, in the darkest, quietest hours of the night, when the air was finally cool, Remus would let himself imagine Sirius afterwards. He’d be so wild with joy, oblivious of other people’s boundaries as he always was when emotion overwhelmed him, and somehow how he’d have poured himself into Remus’ lap, and he’d be recounting his triumph at full volume when he’d turn and their eyes would meet and…

But he didn’t let himself imagine that very often, because it wasn’t true and it wasn’t fair.

The drought continued. His father stopped cleaning his works van. They put a brick in the cistern and watered the garden with washing up water. Their taps went dry and every morning Remus walked into the village with his mother’s egg buckets to collect water from the standpipe. It was a long walk in the quiet of the morning, along the edge of the reservoir.

The reservoir was only a few years older than he was. There had been a village in the valley once, where his grandmother had lived most of her life. But the village had drowned and the people had been moved and now there was only the great lake, filling the crease and curve of the valley. The government in London had decreed that the people of the cities needed water more than the people of the valleys needed their heritage and Granny Eirlys and fifty others had been taken from their homes. The chapel and the schoolhouse, where his great-grandfather had taught, and the cottages of Llanmadoc had been knocked down, their stone taken for the new village. There had been wizards in that village, Remus knew, but when the other villagers moved to Llanmadoc Newydd, the wizards had gone away. Now there was only him, and his mum, and whatever ghosts lingered under the water.

And, some years, when the moon was full, wolves on the bare slopes of the mountains.

His grandmother had raged until the day she died, cursing the men who had taken her home away, determined never to forgive. Even his mother sometimes burst into flights of remembrance, describing her homecoming after her last term at Hogwarts, how she had returned with her accent flattened and her roots handily forgotten to discover there was nothing left to come home to.

The damage men do to one another, he thought vaguely as he carried his buckets back through the blackened skeletons of burnt bushes. The damage is what we’ll remember, if we live to see old age, whether we’re born with magic in our blood or not.

He knew he was brooding, letting the gloom take him as the moon swelled in the night sky and Sirius’ messages became shorter and more cryptic. It was easy to forget that there was any good in humanity when you were alone and even the beauty of the sun on water hinted at past tragedies.

Two days before Sirius’ seventeenth birthday, the crumbled walls of the chapel began to show above the retreating water and James Potter sent him an owl.

 _I’m back in England,_ the message said. _Be ready for me._

Three hours later, Sirius’ owl brought him three leaves of ivy, tied together with a fraying thread of green silk.

“Ivy symbolises friendship,” his mother told him as he puzzled over it, still holding the owl. “Marriage, fidelity, the desire to please.”

“Um,” Remus said, startled. His parents didn’t bother with small talk much. “It’s from _Sirius_. Hold the owl, please.”

He tore the bottom off an old essay and scribbled, _P with me. M._ Then, pinching the paper between his fingers, he cast the secrecy charm quickly. The letters on the page rearranged themselves quickly to read, _For the sole attention of Mr Padfoot, esq._

He took the owl back from his mother, making sure it had the message securely. Taking it out into the garden, he murmured, “For Sirius. Just for Sirius, you understand.” Then he flung his arm up, watching the owl soar away.

Two mornings later, he was carrying the water back from the village when he heard the unmistakeable pop of apparition. Looking out over the dry bed of the reservoir, he saw James striding towards him through the haze, his robes billowing behind him and his face grim.

“Prongs,” Remus said, with a dim feeling that this should be a portentous moment.

James stopped, pushing his glasses up his nose, and then groaned. “Fucking hell, Moony, you’ve been thinking too much again, haven’t you?”

“Er,” Remus said, wondering, not for the first time, why his friends all seemed to believe that intelligence was a perfect excuse not to think. “Maybe.”

James hit him round the side of the head, grabbed the buckets from his hands, and set out towards the cottage, snapping over his shoulder, “Daft twat. It’s time for action.”

“Why’s that?” Remus asked, hurrying to catch up. “What’s happened?”

“Nothing yet,” James said. “But if he’s not here by evening, we’re going to rescue him, of course.”  



	2. Chapter 2

When they got back to the cottage, Lily Evans was sitting on the garden wall, her red hair in fat pigtails and her hands cupped around a cigarette. The morning light made her hair glow like fire behind the thin trail of smoke. She looked up as they drew near, arching an eyebrow, and said, “Today, is it?”

“Yes,” Remus said, aware that James had frozen beside him, caught in astonishment. “What are you doing here?”

She sighed. “I reckon you need all the help you can get, lads.”

Beside Remus, James recovered his equilibrium. “Why, Evans,” he began.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Potter.” She turned to look at Remus. “Any word?”

“Nothing much,” he said. “Come in. I’ll show you what I’ve got. See if you can make any sense of it.”

“As if anyone can make sense of Black’s mind,” she muttered, putting her cigarette out against the weathered stone. “Lay on, Macduff. Joining us, Potter?”

“Your wish is my command,” James said, with an extravagant bow.

Remus led them into the cottage, wondering again how it was that Lily had made peace with Sirius, but turned up the hostilities with James. He had a wry suspicion that it was actually because Lily liked Sirius less than James, rather than more, and resented her own emotions.

His mum was laying the breakfast table as they came in, propping the door open behind them. For a moment her eyes widened. Then she said, “Friends of yours?” and started to set two more places.

“From school,” Remus said, feeling suddenly awkward. “You know James, and this is Lily.”

“James Potter, is it?” his mother murmured. “I’d not have known you.”

“Hello,” Lily said, with what Remus recognised as her teachers-and-guests smile. “I’m sorry to turn up so early, but the trains were awful.”

“You came by train?” Remus asked, surprised, as his mother shrugged and turned away.

“Portkey to Calais, overnight ferry, train as far as Shrewsbury. Better to be careful, these days,” Lily says, curling the end of one pigtail around her fingers and staring at his mother in a worried way. “I’ll need somewhere to stay.”

“Mam?” Remus asked, eyeing the stiff lines of his mother’s back.

“Do as you like,” she said, without turning, her accent suddenly thick. “This one’s your war, not ours.”

Lily shifted, opening her mouth to say something, but Remus shook his head at her. James pursed his lips and said, far too heartily, “Right, then.”

“Save it, Potter.”

“How many for cornflakes?” his mother said. “Tea?”

“Nothing for me, thanks, Mrs Lupin,” Lily said quickly. “I had a croissant on the ferry.”

“We’re all fine without, thanks,” James decreed, backing towards the door. “Come on, minions. We need to consult.”

“I am not your minion, Potter,” Lily snapped, hooking her fingers in his sleeve as she marched outside and dragging him after her.

Left alone in the kitchen, Remus turned back to his mother. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“We’ve had enough trouble. Now you’re dragging us into more.”

He played his best and only card. “It’s for Sirius.”

His mum had had a soft spot for Sirius since the first time Remus tumbled off the Hogwarts Express with his head locked under Sirius’ arm, both howling with laughter as a bright green James had bellowed promises of revenge in their wake.

“Well, then,” his mother said grudgingly. “The girl will have to take your room. You boys can sleep in the parlour.”

“Thank you,” he said sincerely, and got a snort and shrugged shoulder in return.

Outside, Lily and James were staring up at the grey smear of smoke that covered half the sky. Lily’s arms were crossed, and James had shrugged his robes off. He was wearing Muggle clothes beneath, tight jeans and a fraying t-shirt. His tan had deepened since the end of term, and he was posing, in what Remus recognised as his showing off for Lily pose.

He wandered up behind them, clearing his throat. “Are we expecting anyone else?”

“Pete’s late.”

“It’s still early,” Lily pointed out. “What’s the plan, then, Potter?”

“He knows we’re here,” James said, looking to Remus for confirmation. “The old families have traditions. He won’t get any privacy until mid-morning. There’s a vigil, then. He’ll want to move then, before they blood him at dusk.”

“Before they _what?_ ” Lily demanded.

“It doesn’t hurt,” James said defensively. “Not really, but it renews his tie to the bloodline.”

“Christ,” Lily snarled and stomped away, out onto the cracked bed of the reservoir. Behind her, the boys exchanged a look, and followed.

By the time she slowed to a halt, the cottage looked small on the shore, huddled under the mountain. She took a deep breath and asked, “How big is this lake, normally?”

Remus shrugged. “All this would be water. It filled our cellar one Christmas.”

James twitched a little at that, and Remus looked away. He’d spent that Christmas at school, forced to use the Shack for the moon, and that had been the final mystery which pushed the others into bullying the truth out of him.

Lily shivered and looked up. “We’d be drowning, then.”

“Or being eaten by sharks,” James pointed out happily. “Or Loch Ness monsters.”

Remus let his vowels lengthen. “Not in Wales, boyo.”

Lily giggled, her hand flying to her mouth to cover the sound. James beamed at her, all smitten and hopeless, and Remus smiled a little, trying not to be proud of something that really wasn’t amusing enough for that reaction.

Behind them, there was the pop of apparition.

They all swung around, reaching for their wands.

Peter waved at them and started across towards them. As he got closer, Remus could see that he was carrying a slice of toast in his free hand.

“Morning!” he called between bites. “Hullo, Evans. Wasn’t expecting you.”

“Ah, well, now Black’s showing signs of being a decent human being, it seems a shame to lose him.”

Peter snickered. “You just don’t want to end up as the only Gryffindor at Sluggy’s little parties.”

Lily shuddered. “That too.”

Peter took another bite of toast. “So, now what?”

“We wait for Sirius,” James said.

“And if he doesn’t come?”

“We go and get him.”

Peter shrugged. “Sounds good.”

 

#

 

They ate their lunch sitting in the middle of the reservoir. Afterwards, Lily stretched her legs out, slopping sun cream onto her bare skin. Her blouse slipped off her shoulder as she bent forward, showing where she had already burned. Peter lay back on the bare ground, resting his hands on his belly and yawning. James took the sun cream out of Lily’s hand and tried to apply it to the back of her neck, much to her displeasure.

Remus walked away from their bickering, wading out into the low water. More buildings were showing now, and he shivered as the chill of the water rose through him. All his life, he had heard stories of this place, but he had never seen it before. He tried to map it from memories, but he couldn’t tell which broken wall was the chapel and which the Pritchards’ cottage, where they had kept two goats in the garden.

Surrounded by the cool and shining water, it looked peaceful. He knew, though, that it had turned some people to despair and others to violence, another wound and call to battle. How many of those who tried to burn the English out, he wondered, were ready to admit that some of them were only a few generations away from Englishness themselves? It seemed to him that the more fiercely people fought for an ideal, the less real that ideal became.

He could smell burning again, and the sirens began to echo, close enough today that their insistent wailing almost disguised the soft sound of apparition.

Almost, but not quite, and he looked out to see Sirius standing on the cracked earth, gaunt and wild-eyed, with the sky dark with smoke behind him.

Remus began to run, shouting, and the others stirred and surged to their feet. As Remus caught up with James, he heard him gasp, “He did it. He fucking did it.” Then he raised his voice to bellow, “You made it, you bastard! You fucking made it!”

Sirius turned, too slowly, to look at them. He was shivering, despite the heat of the sun, and Remus slowed down a little, frightened.

Lily, however, barged past him to throw her arms around Sirius. “You’re all right!”

Sirius let out a low choking sound and collapsed against her, burying his face against her shoulder. Lily’s face went blank, but then she patted his back awkwardly, muttering, “It’s okay now. You’re safe.”

“He should never have gone back,” Peter said quietly, and James flinched.

Remus agreed, but he wouldn’t have said it in front of James. When Sirius had run away, desperate and underaged, he had gone straight to the Potters. But the Blacks had wanted their heir back, and they had spared nothing in trying to force the Potters to give him up. James’ family had allies, it was true, and a lineage as impressive as the Blacks’, but his parents were old, even for wizards, and they weren’t strong enough for what was starting to happen, for the two armies that would form around those two ancient families. So Sirius had taken the choice out of their hands with a overly nonchalant shrug and _What the fuck, it’s just the rest of this term and a few weeks of the summer holidays. Better than a war, right, boys?_

And now here he was, and it had obviously been the wrong choice, and they should never have let him go.

Then, rather croakily, Sirius said, “You can let go now, Evans. Because, yeah, nice tits and that, but you’re really not my type, and Jamie there snivels into his pumpkin juice when he’s jealous.”

Lily let him go, rolling her eyes. “Okay, for today, and today only, you won’t get a smack in the gob for that, Black.”

“I’ll hit him for you,” James offered, crashing forward with something which was half punch and half hug, and then they were all piling on as Sirius tried to grab them all at once.

 

#

 

They bedded down in the parlour that night, Sirius in the middle on the biggest pile of blankets and winter bedding. They’d talked, but not about anything important, just the comfortable old ramble of Quidditch and music and vaguely insulting insinuations about each others’ sexual prowess. Lily had given up and gone upstairs early, before all the wildness had faded from Sirius’ eyes.

James had been the first to fall asleep, starting to snore mid-sentence. Peter had gone not long after that, curled up on the windowsill in rat form. Remus had tried to stay awake as long as possible, but he’d been up since dawn too, and he didn’t have Sirius’ ability to stay awake for three days and then sleep for two, and he eventually slipped into sleep.

He was woken, at some cool hour of the night, by Sirius’ hand clamping down on his bare shoulder, fingers digging in tight. Remus scrunched his shoulder and opened his eyes. By the moonlight through the open window, he could see that Sirius’ other hand was knotted in James’ t-shirt.

“Padfoot?” he whispered.

“Sorry,” Sirius gasped. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s okay,” Remus said, shuffling closer so Sirius’s grip hurt a little less. “Can’t sleep?”

Sirius shuddered once, hard and fast. “They made me dream things, Moony.”

Behind him James stirred, blinking.

“Dream?” Remus murmured.

“There were things in the dark. Hungry things. Waiting for me.” Then he twisted to his feet, tense and scowling. “I need to run.”

“Want company?” James asked groggily, sitting up.

Sirius shrugged. “Suppose.”

They slipped outside, leaving the back door ajar. Before they’d gone ten paces, the other two had transformed, shooting out across the lake bed with a clatter of hooves and thud of paws. Remus followed more slowly, sitting down on a rock to watch the dog and stag race under the light of the crescent moon.

By the time they came back human he was covered in goosebumps and rubbing his legs for warmth. It had been hot enough by evening that he’d stripped his shirt off long before falling asleep, and now he was regretting it.

Sirius dropped down on the rock beside him, panting and grinning, and then said, “Fuck, you’re cold, Moony.”

“Yeah,” Remus said, biting back a yawn.

Sirius poked him in the side and got up again, bouncing on his toes and staring at the stars above. James stood beside him, both of them scanning the sky for something Remus would never understand. All the same, he went to stand with them.

“They’ll know I’m gone for good by now,” Sirius said, and then pointed at the sky. “Like Andromeda and old Cedrella and the younger Phineas.”

“Stay away this time, yeah,” James said.

“Yeah,” Sirius said and stepped away from them, wandering away a little. Then, suddenly he tensed.

“Padfoot!” James said sharply.

Sirius half-turned towards them, stumbling a little, his eyes suddenly wide with shock.

Then, with a sound like distant thunder, he burst into flames.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 3, _Let's leave the sound of the heat for the sound of the rain / It's easy to sleep when it wets my brain_ , 1300 words, cooling the flames.

Remus was moving before he thought about it, fumbling for his wand as he threw his arms around Sirius. He apparated, side-alonging Sirius, dragging them both into the memory of the drowned village.

The flames flared as they rematerialised, tearing across his skin like the light of a midwinter moon. Sirius screamed and Remus flinched, his feet sliding on the stones hidden beneath the dark water that washed around his legs. Starting to slip, he dragged Sirius with him, until they were both splashing down into the water.

Darkness closed over them, and Sirius kicked and writhed against him. It was so cold that for a moment Remus just let them sink. Then he felt broken bricks pressing against his back, and forced himself up again.

The night seemed hot against his skin, the scalded places stinging as the air hit them. He gasped, and then grabbed for Sirius, pulling his head back above the water. Sirius came up spitting, arms flailing as he shrieked, “Fuck! Fuck, fuck, _fuck_!”

But he was no longer blazing, so Remus lowered him back into the water, steadying him as blackened scraps of robes tangled like seaweed around his hands.

“Evil bitch!” Sirius gasped, lashing out. “Fucking daughter of a troll!”

“Stay still,” Remus gasped.

Sirius went limp, though the water still roiled around them. “Moony?” he whimpered.

“Right here.”

“Hurts! Shit!”

“I know,” Remus said. “I know, I know.”

“Moony!” another voice bellowed from the sky, and Remus looked up to see James streaking towards them on his old broom. He dismounted at a run, letting the broom crash down as he ran into the water.

“Lift his head,” he snapped, splashing toward him, and fished a bottle out of his robes. “Pads, pain potion.”

“Please,” Sirius gasped, and Remus held his head for him as James tipped the bottle against his lips. After a moment, Sirius’ eyes went blank and he went heavy.

“Lily’s got a complete medical kit with her,” James said tautly. “Stuff for burns.”

“We need to keep him wet,” Remus said. He hadn’t spent so much of his life in the hospital wing for nothing. “And get these clothes off him.”

“He’ll be sorry to miss that,” James managed. “I’ll hold him. You get him naked.”

Remus’ arms were aching, so he swopped places gratefully, muttering, “You do know he isn’t actually gay, don’t you?”

“That’s what _he_ says,” James threw back, his eyes wide and frightened.

Remus coaxed the robes away from Sirius’ shoulders, throwing them away to float behind them. “You know Pete just started that rumour to give the rest of us a chance with the girls.”

“Just because Pete said it, doesn’t mean it isn’t true.”

“You deserve every hex Padfoot’s thrown at you.” Sirius’ skin was streaked with red. Remus tore off his breeches, charred cloth disintegrating around his fingers. Once Sirius was finally bare, he looked up at James and said, “Safe to apparate him?”

“Lily’s got her version of Pomfrey’s magic burn lotion waiting. I’ll side-along him.”

Remus stepped back, watching as his friends disappeared. Then he sank to his knees in the cold water, covering his face for a moment. The sight of Sirius burning flashed against the darkness, and he choked, and dragged himself out of the water.

By the time he stumbled back into the cottage, Sirius was half-coated in burn ointment. Lily was working her hand across his shoulders as James tackled his legs. Remus hurried over to them, reaching out for more ointment without thinking about it.

“Start in the middle,” Lily snapped at him. Her hair was hanging down around her face, crinkled now it was out of its plaits.

“Yeah, you get the noble and ancient arse,” James said, bright and brittle.

“Not a joking matter, Potter.”

Remus, hoping he wasn’t blushing too much, set to work. Really, it would have been easier if he had James’ ability to make a joke out of anything. Only a few of his fantasies had come this far, to Sirius naked and warm beneath his hands, but none of his wildest dreams had featured serious burns and James and Lily in the room with them. He kept swinging back between horror at the red streaks across Sirius’ back and sheer, frantic glee at finally knowing how well Sirius’ body fit beneath the curve of his hands.

At last Lily said, “Enough.” Remus lifted his hands away reluctantly and couldn’t help squeaking when she pounced on him next. He almost forgotten his own burns.

He submitted meekly to Lily’s narrow, competent hands, even when she giggled and muttered, “I didn’t think you’d be the hairiest of the set.”

“You should see Peter without his shirt,” Remus told her gravely. “We think one of his ancestors was overly fond of sheep.”

“Where did he go?” she asked, frowning suddenly.

“Home to sleep in his own bed,” James said blandly, not looking towards the windowsill.

They sat up for a while, gathered around Sirius. Lily produced a pack of cards and they played for knuts, none of them really concentrating. Somewhere near dawn, Remus’ cards slipped out of his fingers and Lily put a hand on his shoulder and whispered, “Sleep.”

He didn’t argue, but curled up on the sheet next to Sirius.

In his dreams, rain was falling. He was running through city streets, Sirius always a step ahead of him, laughter flashing on his face every time he turned to urge Remus on. The rain washed over them, shining on Sirius’ lashes and making his clothes cling to him. But no matter how hard Remus ran, he could never quite catch him.

Sometime later he woke to dawn spilling through the window, with all the blue and golden hues of early mornings. Sirius was still lying beside him, snuffling a little in his sleep, but everyone else was gone. Remus sat up enough to see that the burns had almost faded, and let his fingers stray to the small of Sirius’ back, naked and unmarked.

The smell of cigarette smoke was drifting through the window, and he shifted so he could see out to where Lily was leaning on the front gate, one leg bent so her foot rested on the worn wood. The cigarette hung from her fingers, as if forgotten, and her eyes were vague and tired. James was next to her, his eyes closed.

As Remus watched, he shifted a little and said wearily, “You shouldn’t smoke so much. It’ll kill you.”

“I’m a witch,” Lily said, not moving. “And it’s not like I’m going to live long enough for it to matter.”

“Don’t say that,” James said, voice low and fierce.

“Why not? We all know we’ll be on the front line, all of us. None of us will see thirty.”

James moved then, cupping her cheek quickly and then dropping his hand. “Don’t. I can’t live like that. What’s the point of anything if that’s all we’ve got?”

She laughed, dry and a little angry. “Because we’ll go out like fucking stars, Potter. We’ll go in such a blaze of glory that they’ll fight in our names for generations.”

Beside Remus, Sirius stirred, muttering something incoherent.

“Padfoot?” Remus breathed, crawling closer.

Sirius blinked at him, grey eyes cloudy. Then he rolled over, smacking at Remus’ knee and muttered, “I think I got disinherited.”

“Er, good,” Remus said.

Sirius yawned and dropped his head onto Remus’ knee. “Always did hate that fucking tapestry.” Then he knotted his hand in Remus’ shorts and closed his eyes again.

“Right,” Remus said, and let his fingers tangle into the tangled, glossy curls of Sirius’ hair. Then, as the day began to warm and brighten, he contented himself with watching Sirius sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

“Moony? Mooooooony?”

“Shut up,” Remus muttered, trying to crawl deeper into his pillows. Which didn’t seem to be very comfortable pillows today. Were pillows supposed to be bony?

“But Moony…”

“Sleeping,” Remus said, as distinctly as he could. “Fuck off.”

There was a moment of silence, before Sirius poked him in the shoulder.

Remus hit out in vaguely the direction of Sirius’ voice, getting nothing but empty air. Disgruntled, he growled, “I am _sleeping_. Fuck off or I _will_ eat you.”

“I’d give you indigestion,” Sirius said brightly. “And I know you’re sleeping because you’re sleeping on _me_.”

Remus thought about that for a moment, before cracking his eyes open. Right, bare and reddened skin an inch from his eyes, distinct stink of sweaty armpit, elbow in his ribs.

“Ffnargh!” he yelped, rolling away as fast as he could and almost wedging himself under the sofa.

Sirius came after him, leaning over him, hair dangling, to remark, “Do I have really bad sunburn or did I really catch fire?”

“Fire,” Remus said, flailing for a cushion or some other means of defense. Sirius had that terrible manic gleam in his eyes which always hinted at imminent violence (often just to celebrate the coming of morning or the presence of strawberry jam or the noise the wind made).

“Huh,” said Sirius, eyes pensive. “That explains why I’m naked.”

“Fnargh!” Remus said again.

“I don’t know why you’re upset,” Sirius said indignantly, sitting back on his haunches. “That was my only set of clothes.”

“If you left poor Remus alone for a few minutes, he might wake up enough to loan you some trousers,” Lily said acidly from the doorway. “Or I’ve got some spare knickers with me, but I think they’d clash with your pretty scarlet arse.”

“Evans!” Sirius squeaked, blushing suddenly.

Remus, whose brain had just stuck on the image of Sirius in frilly knickers, whimpered.

“Leave him alone, Black. He saved your life last night, and none of us got much sleep afterwards.”

Sirius switched back to staring at Remus, his eyes wide. “Remus?”

“S’nothing,” Remus muttered, feeling his own blush burn down his chest. “Just a bit of apparition.”

“Yeah, shut up,” Sirius said, grinning at him, and Lily snorted.

“Let the poor bugger sleep, Black. Remus, anything which needs doing here before breakfast?”

“Have to get water,” Remus said, sitting up. “From the village.”

“I’ll go,” Sirius said, pushing him back down. “I’m stealing some clothes first, though. Evans, go to bed. You’re getting shrill.”

Remus left them to bicker, drifting back to sleep.

The next time he woke up, Peter was sitting on the windowsill, human again. He put a finger to his lips as Remus sat up, pointing across the room.

James was sprawled across the sofa, mouth open as he snored. Lily was on the floor next to him, her head tipped back onto his stomach, fast asleep.

“Sirius?” Remus whispered.

“Running off a potion-high,” Peter breathed back. “Go to sleep.”

The next time he woke up, only Lily was in the room, curled up on the sofa with a magazine. Narcissa Black’s face stared out at him the cover, her lips sneering as jewels sparkled in her ears and around her narrow neck.

“Abraxas Malfoy bought her a Quidditch team as a wedding present,” Lily said as he sat up. “Twenty-six diamonds on her wedding veil, too.”

She was looking livelier now. Her hair was still loose around her shoulders, but she’d changed into a long floral dress. Her toes were peeping from under the hem, the nails painted green.

“Well, wouldn’t you need quite a bribe to marry Lucius Malfoy?” Remus said.

Lily sniggered. “Wonder which of them goes through more hair dye in a month?”

“According to Sirius, they’re both natural blondes.”

“Yuck,” Lily said, wrinkling her nose. “I don’t want to know how he found that out.”

“Where is he?”

“I chucked them out. They were getting noisy.”

“Is he okay?”

“Looks a bit sunburnt. Nothing worse. You did good.”

“Didn’t even think about it,” Remus admitted.

“No,” Lily said thoughtfully. “You wouldn’t. You awake enough for lunch?”

“It’s lunchtime?”

“Yup. I said we’d do sarnies for the rest of them. Come and help.”

Lily was good kitchen company, working around him without too much fuss. Fairly soon, they were heading out the back of the cottage with a bag of sandwiches and several bottles of lemonade. The others were sitting in the shadow of the crags, Sirius talking at Peter, his hands stabbing the air for emphasis, and James dozing.

“Grub’s up!” Lily yelled as they came close, and Sirius bounced up and came hurtling down the slope towards them. He dragged Remus into a bear hug.

“Just a bit of apparition, my arse,” he snarled. “Prongs _told_ me _everything_!”

“Going to drop the lunch!” Remus protested into his shoulder.

“Pete can fetch it,” Sirius said and dragged him up into the shade, arms still locked around his throat.

“Put Moony down now, Pads,” James said wearily. “Seriously, mate, you should have left him to burn.”

“Moony loves me more than you do, Prongs, you ape!” Sirius announced.

“No, I don’t!” Remus vowed. “Let me breathe, you nutter.”

“Seriously,” James muttered. “Did you have to save him?”

“ _Mea culpa_ ,” Remus said dryly. “Won’t do it again.”

Sirius let him go, pouting. “ _Potes abire et tu ipse cacare, irrumator._ ”

“We don’t all speak perfect Latin, Black,” Lily pointed out.

“I do,” James said happily. “And that was foul, even for him. Nice one.”

“Heh,” Sirius said, looking pleased with himself. “Any word from Dumbledore?”

“You expecting something?” James asked.

Sirius shook himself, looking irritated. “I wrote to him.”

“Isn’t he out of the country?” Peter asked. “International Confederation of Something? It was in the paper.”

“That finished last week,” Remus said. “There was something in the _Prophet_ yesterday. Said they couldn’t reach him for comment on the new Education Act.”

“That’s odd,” Lily said, and they all looked at each other, suddenly uneasy.

Then Sirius said, “Fuck!” and kicked the lemonade over.

“Hey,” Remus protested, catching the bottle.

“It was _important!_ ”

“What was?”

“I learnt something in those weeks,” Sirius said, voice low and intent. “I know where to find him, and how to get close.”

“To Dumbledore?” Peter said, sounding confused.

“No,” Sirius said, stiff with scorn. “To You-Know-Who. I know where Voldemort is.”  



	5. Chapter 5

When he was very little, just after the wolf came and the move to Wales, Remus used to hide behind the fridge. It was an old fridge, painted beige, with a tiny freezer compartment at the top and streaks of rust down its sides. It didn’t quite fit into the crooked old kitchen of the reservoir keeper’s cottage, so there was a space between it and the wall where a skinny boy could curl up and remain completely hidden for hours.

It had been a hot summer, the one when he was bitten, and he had been frightened all the time, even when the moon was new. His mother had wept bitterly whenever he clung to her a little too long, and his father had been a watchful, worrying presence even when he slept. He had taken to tucking himself between the fridge and the wall, resting his cheek on its cool side and letting the low buzz of its motor fill his mind.

He’d grown out of it, of course, just like many childish things. He’d been able to laugh at himself a little, once he was at school, and he’d even mentioned it to Sirius once, smiling wryly.

Sirius had stared at him, blank and arrogant and cold. Then, just as Remus had begun to regret mentioning something so idiotic, Sirius had snapped, “I talked to my great-great uncle’s portrait. It was in the attic. I liked him.”

“That’s good,” Remus had said, embarrassed and confused.

“Yes,” Sirius had snapped back, sinking behind his magazine again. “If you mention that to James, I will kill you.”

“Likewise,” Remus said, because he had worked out roughly how to play the game by then.

Sirius had flashed him a blinding grin, and then the subject had been forgotten.

Which was why he was so surprised to trip over Sirius’ legs when he went to get some milk out of the fridge. He caught himself on the wall for balance, and looked down. Sirius was gazing up at him, eyes wide and vulnerable in that proud face.

“Padfoot?” Remus asked, not sure what was going on.

“It doesn’t work,” Sirius said miserably. “I can still hear my brain.”

Remus abandoned the idea of cold milk, and sat down on the floor. The flagstones were gloriously cool. “Is that a bad thing?”

“Sometimes,” Sirius said, hunching up his knees.

“I’m sorry,” Remus said.

“Not your fault.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

Sirius shrugged, peering at him out of the shadows. “I do know, you know. I know how to find him. Dumbledore could do something with that.”

“It’s not your fault he’s away.”

“Yeah,” Sirius said, his legs unfolding across the floor. “But if Dumbledore can’t get him, someone should.”

“Not you!” Remus said immediately.

“I spent all that time listening. Even when they locked me away, when they – I _listened_. Someone has to use that.”

“But not _you_!” Remus said urgently, leaning forward into the space between fridge and wall.

“Why not?”

Remus blinked at him, the words sticking in his throat. Then he closed his eyes, turned off his internal censor, and snarled, “Because you’ve done _enough_.”

There was a moment a silence, and then Sirius said, “Oh.” Then his hand landed on Remus’ shoulder, pushing him back a little. “I’m sorry, Moony.”

Remus kept his eyes closed, fighting for composure. He was so sick of every victory being just the start of another battle. He was sick of watching everyone he knew close in behind their banners, sick of watching people he loved sacrifice everything.

“The thing is,” Sirius said, sounding very young. “That it’s never enough. If we let ourselves think that, if we say, yeah, we’ve done our bit, we let them win. I don’t want them to win, Remus.”

Remus opened his eyes reluctantly. Sirius was kneeling up now, staring at him from only inches away. Tensing, he pushed down the feeling that none of this was _fair_ , and said, as reasonably as he could, “Dumbledore might have got your message.”

“We don’t know that.”

“We can find out.”

“How?”

Remus rolled to his feet, holding out his hand to help Sirius up. “That’s easy. Let’s go to Hogwarts.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _So we are taking off our masks, are we, and keeping / our mouths shut?_

Dusk had started by the time they left the cottage, blurring the edges of the mountains. When the five of them reapparated half a mile from Hogwarts, however, the sun was still high, though the air here was cooler and the grass greener.

The castle dominated the horizon, watching over everything. Below them, the lake glinted and Hogsmeade was nestled into the side of the valley, roofs low and dark. It was very quiet.

“Quick march, then,” James said cheerfully, and headed off down the heathery slope. Peter hurried after him, and Lily caught up quickly, calling, “Who put you in charge?”

Sirius seemed to be content to fall in beside Remus behind them. His mood had flashed upwards in the last half-hour, and he was grinning now, glancing sideways at Remus.

“What?” Remus said at last. Sirius had been glancing at him with that little grin since he dragged him out from beside the fridge. Surely his sudden fit of bossiness hadn’t been that amusing.

“What what?” Sirius parried, jumping from rock to rock.

“What?” Remus repeated, baffled. Sirius roared with laughter, and Remus, after a moment, laughed with him.

“What’s so funny?” James called back, setting them off again.

“Wat Watkins was a wandsmith,” Sirius chanted back. “What wattle does Wat Watkins wot, what?”

James rolled his eyes and pointed at the castle. “Hog-warts,” he enunciated. “Dame school was years ago.”

“Wen Wendle was from Wenlock. When did Wen Wendle wend his way from Wenlock?”

“Oh, god,” Lily said, wiping sweat off her forehead. “That’s actually more pathetic than _which witch wished which wicked wish?_ Don’t you lot have any decent-”

“And,” Sirius said, striking a pose. “I never went to dame school. I was tutored in solitary grandeur.”

“Didn’t you share your cousins’ governess?” Peter asked, rolling his eyes. “Give it a rest, Pads.”

“Moony started-”

“Shut up, Sirius,” Remus said automatically. “Look. The gates are closed.”

The others all turned to look. The wrought-iron gates between the great stone pillars were not only closed but chained shut.

“Perhaps there’s a note?” Lily suggested. “Or maybe they always close them in the summer holidays?”

“But there are teachers who live here,” Sirius said.

“I’ve been here in the summer before,” Remus said. “The gates were open then, but they were expecting us.”

“Won’t work it out by talking,” James said cheerfully and strode off down the hill.

But there was nothing written on the gate. The chain, close to, was glowing faintly, as if something luminescent was crawling just beneath the surface of the metal. They couldn’t see the doors of the castle from here, or Hagrid’s hut, but the grounds appeared to be completely deserted.

“Damn,” Lily said, frowning. “There goes that plan.”

Peter sniggered. James guffawed. Sirius chortled evilly. Remus took pity on her and said gently, “Locked gates have never really been a problem for us.”

“Please tell me you’re not proposing we climb the walls.”

“Well, we _could_ ,” Sirius said speculatively. “But it’s far less effort to just walk in. Straight to Honeydukes, comrades?”

“Might as well,” James replied.

“ _Honeydukes?_ ” Lily asked. “Feeling hungry?”

“Secret passage,” Remus said, shooting her an apologetic smile.

She glared at them all. “Well, that explains a lot.”

James gave her a sunny grin. “Luckily, dear Evans, my love for you has reformed me. I have now vowed to use my powers only for good.”

“Well, I’m not infatuated with Evans,” Sirius grumbled, shooting Remus another of those sly glances, “and I’ll use my powers how I like.”

James hit him round the head, Sirius yelped and punched him back, and they went scuffling down the road towards the village. Lily, muttering under her breath, led the other two after them.

By the time they got to the outskirts of Hogsmeade, James’ hair was end and Sirius had lost several buttons, leaving his borrowed shirt hanging loose. He wandered back to bump shoulders with Remus, before saying loudly, “Where the fuck is everyone?”

“Dunno,” Remus said. The street was empty, and all the windows were closed. Hogsmeade might be cooler than the rest of the country, but it was still warm. Even the _Three Broomsticks_ was closed, when drinkers should have spilling out to sit on the outside tables.

Lily pointed towards the Post Office, where a red-edged poster was pinned to the door, flapping slightly in the breeze. It read _Curfew_ in six inch flashing letters.

“Great,” Sirius muttered, slouching back. “And look, the Flumes have fixed that cellar window. Won’t be able to get into Honeydukes until it opens.”

“The Shack, then,” Remus suggested. “Before someone spots us and calls the MLE.”

“Could do,” James said. “Could do, but…”

“Hmm,” Sirius said, in exactly the same tone. “Yes. Since it’s Dumbledore, we’re after.”

“Quite,” James said, and threw an arm around Lily’s neck. “Evans, let me buy you a drink.”

“Get off me! The pub’s closed.”

“This one is. Let’s try a different one.”

“A less reputable one,” Siirus said, glancing at his reflection in the shop window, and flicking his hair into place lazily. “You know, I do believe this will be my first drink since I attained adulthood. How strange to be legal.”

“Sooner the better then,” Remus said hurriedly. There were lace curtains flicking in a first floor window opposite, and he didn’t trust the MLE to ask questions first if they were called out. He grabbed Sirius’ arm and starting marching him towards the other end of the village.

“Is somebody going to explain this to me?” Lily asked crossly behind him. “Potter? Black? Lupin? Pettigrew?”

“Haven’t the faintest,” Peter said cheerfully. “Best to just let them reveal their genius at the end. They sulk if you spoil it.”

“Gah,” said Lily.

The door of the Hog’s Head was propped open when they got there, and the noise of conversation from inside showed that not everyone was respecting the curfew.

“Never seen such custom here,” Sirius said, his arm around Remus’ neck. “Poor Abe must be running out of glasses.”

“If they’re wise, most people will have brought their own,” Remus pointed out. He’d been in the Hog’s Head once before and that had been enough.

Sirius let go of his throat and shook his shoulders out. “Well, then, my audience awaits. After me, gentlemen and supposed lady-”

“Watch it, trouble.”

Sirius blew Lily a kiss, smirked as James glowered at him, and strutted into the pub a stride ahead of the rest of them.

He was only a step inside the door when he froze in shock.


	7. Chapter 7

“Professor!” Sirius squeaked, as Remus pushed forward to look over his shoulder.

Professor McGonagall, with a glass of gillywater in her hand and thin tartan robes hiked up to her knees, regarded him without surprise. “And Mr Lupin as well, I see. Do get the other two inside before they’re caught breaking the curfew.”

“Why, professor,” James said, encroaching. “Fancy meeting you in this fine establishment.”

She regarded him coldly. “Somehow, Mr Potter, it would have been no challenge at all to name those students most likely to break a curfew.”

“Curfews are for the weak at heart,” Sirius said loftily, obviously regaining his equilibrium. “Buy you a drink, professor?”

“Don’t push your luck, Mr Black.” Her gaze slid across them, and she sighed. “I see you have been led astray, Miss Evans.”

“Er,” said Lily, scuffing her foot. “We went up to the school first. We were looking for Professor Dumbledore.”

“You are far from the only one,” Professor McGonagall murmured, then straightened her shoulders. “Professor Dumbledore is not available, I’m afraid, and the castle will remain closed until he returns.”

“Why?” Sirius asked. “Dumbledore goes off to London all the time and the castle never seals itself up. Why’s he locked the place down this time? It’s not as if there’s been any Death Eater activity any closer than Aberdeen, last I heard, and I should shut up now, probably, given the look on your face, right, Professor?”

Remus sidled away. He didn’t think it was possible for Professor McGonagall to issue detentions in the holidays, but Sirius was an exception to many rules. He had also never learned how to deal with teachers, perhaps as a result of an upbringing that emphasised his blood superiority to almost all authority figures. These days he was down to treating teachers as equals rather than inferiors, but it still tended to go gruesomely wrong.

The pub was full, little groups huddled around the small tables, heads close. He couldn’t hear any conversations but the general feeling was of anxiety. Remus recognised a couple of groups of teachers, and Hagrid slumped around a entire table with Claw flopped at his feet. To his right was a girl he recognised from Ravenclaw a few years back – Emma or Emmy something, looking hot and irritated as she argued with another woman.

Behind him, a voice said, “Remus Lupin? It is Lupin, isn’t it?”

Remus turned to see a red-haired wizard waving at him. It took him a moment, but then he registered the identical man sitting at the same table and said, “The Prewetts. Hullo.”

“Gid,” the one who’d spoken said to him, waving at him. “Fabian, there. Cor, look at you, minion. When did you lot get old enough to drink?”

“Not your minions any more, I’m afraid,” Remus apologised, jerking his thumb at James. “That one’s Head Boy next year.”

“Aw,” Gideon said, wiping at his eyes dramatically. “Our disciples have exceeded all their masters’ dreams. So, you lot ever find the Honeydukes tunnel?”

Suddenly, James was slipping past him, dropping into a chair opposite Gideon. “Please,” he said, closing his eyes in distaste. “First week of second year.”

“Used it lately?” Gideon asked, voice very casual.

“Not since the end of term. Forgotten how to get in, have you?”

Fabian turned round to say, “In your dreams, my boy. So, ever find the other tunnels?”

“One or two maybe,” James said. “Can you remember, Pete?”

Peter yawned and said nonchalantly, “Something like that. Got a bit bored of tunnels before too long, didn’t we?”

Remus wasn’t quite sure why James was so intent on impressing the Prewetts, but he knew his cue. “I still think there must be a ninth passage. Eight doesn’t have the same geometrical significance.”

“I told you, you twat!” Sirius interrupted, suddenly draping himself over the back of Remus’ chair. “The construction dates are too varied to expect arithmantic coherence. Even the growth patterns we’ve managed to trace back are purely organic.”

“There’s order in nature,” Remus argued. “Look at ferns as a model for the room growth, and you can clearly see-”

“ _How_ many passages?” Gideon asked, as Fabian blinked at them.

“Eight that we know of,” James said. “Of course, that’s just those that terminate within the parish of Hogsmeade.”

“What’s going on?” Sirius demanded. “Evening, Fabian, Gid. How’s Molly?”

“Preggers again,” Gideon said.

“What’s going on,” James said, leaning back in his chair and running his hand through his hair idly, “is that the boys here are rather desperate to get into Hogwarts. Which makes me think that not only are the gates locked but that the passages you do know are blocked too, right, boys?”

“And the staff can’t get in, either,” Peter piped up. “That’s why they’re all sat here, and probably way Professor McGongall’s wearing pajamas under her robe.”

“Which makes me wonder,” Lily said suddenly, stepping into view. “Where Dumbledore is and why he’s let the castle throw everyone out?”

“Which tells me,” Remus finished, suddenly working out what James was up to, “that you need our help.”

“Because nobody knows Hogwarts better than we do,” James said. “Not even Dumbledore.”

The Prewetts stared at him. Behind them, hidden in the shadows, someone began to clap slowly: smack, smack, smack. As Remus tensed, the man in the shadows leaned forwards.

He was not a good-looking man, but he made Remus want to simultaneously sit up very straight and disappear into the wall. His face was reamed with curse scars, but his eyes were bright. He growled, “Well, boy, want to tell these sorry bastards what else they just fucked up on this assignment?”

“They shouldn’t have started by pissing us off,” Sirius said coolly and pensively, leaning into Remus’ space. “I am no man’s minion.”

“Er,” James said. “That and showing their cards too soon.”

“Hmm,” the scarred man said, pointing at James suddenly. “You. James Potter, liberal parents, reputation for being too clever for your own good.” His finger moved. “Peter Pettigrew, only slightly less stupid than you look, your mother’s a fool, though, so it can’t be helped. Lily Evans, one of Slughorn’s darlings. You’d go far in a different political climate. Sirius Black, almost started a war before you worked out what you were doing. Brave, though, no one denies that.” Then, to Remus, “Remus Lupin. I don’t know much about you.”

“I’m friends with them,” Remus said mildly.

“Hah. Well, you’ll have to do. Honeydukes’ tunnel leads straight back to the village. Either get past that or get us in some other way.”

“Alastor Moody, don’t you _dare!_ ” Professor McGonagall’s voice cut across the entire pub, and Remus flinched a little as she stormed towards their table, even though her wrath wasn’t directed at him. “I will not tolerate you recruiting students before they have even finished their education!”

Moody looked faintly abashed, but growled, “Now, Minerva-”

“Don’t you take that tone with me, Alastor!”

“Here we go,” Fabian muttered. “You’re all of age, aren’t you?”

Sirius sighed into Remus’ ear. “I have been seventeen for thirty three hours and still nobody has bought me a drink.”

“Merlin’s tits,” Gideon said, face paling in horror. “What sort of friends are you lot?”

“Cheap dates the lot of them,” Lily said cheerfully. “I’ll buy you a drink, Black. Name your poison.”

James chased after her as she pushed her way towards the bar. Sirius immediately stole his seat and grinned at Gideon, baring his teeth. “So?”

“Come back tomorrow,” Gideon said. “Let the rest of us argue with her. She’s still a little tense. All the resident staff appeared in the middle of Hogsmeade in their nightclothes at 4am. Bit traumatic, especially for those who sleep in the altogether.”

“Not McGonagall?” Peter breathed, looking slightly ill.

Gideon shook his head solemnly and then tipped his elbow towards the table where Professors Slughorn and Flitwick were sitting.

“Oh, god,” James said, grimacing. “But what about Dumbledore?”

“Well, that’s the big question, isn’t it?” Fabian said. “He owled McGonagall to say he was taking a side-trip after the conference – seems he pops over to see an old friend somewhere in Eastern Europe quite often after these trips. He was due back late last night.”

“But he hasn’t arrived yet?”

“That’s the thing,” Gideon said. “If he was in the castle last night, then he didn’t get booted out with the rest of them. We don’t know if he made it back or not.”

“And if he wasn’t back, why isn’t he here getting the school open?” continued Fabian. “As far as any of us know, Albus Dumbledore is missing.”

“Well, fuck,” said Sirius.

“Quite,” Fabian replied as Lily set down the first drinks. “So, drink, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we may die.”

“Er, shouldn’t that be ‘eat, drink and be merry’?” Remus asked.

Both Prewetts shuddered. “You’ve obviously never seen what passes for a food menu in here.”

#

It turned out that Lily and Sirius were the lightweights of the party, especially once Lily realised that there was no such thing as last orders in the Hog’s Head. Of course, that meant that at dawn Remus was trying to get four tipsy English speakers through the Floo to Wales ( _No, Lily, Llanmadoc Newydd, not Flan Mad Dog Knew Us. Try saying it just once more before you actually get into the fire_ )

She still fell over on the way out of the fireplace at the other end, but luckily Lily Evans’ terrible luck with Floos was well known in Gryffindor tower, and James Potter was waiting with open arms.

“What are you doing in my way, Potter?” she was demanding as Remus came out of the fire.

James grinned at her and suggested, in a loud whisper, “Let’s just get you to bed, beautiful.”

“You’re not coming near my bed, Potter,” Lily proclaimed, clinging to his neck. “You’ll take advantage!”

“Peter can come too. He’ll stop me if I do anything, won’t you?”

“Course I will,” Peter said promptly.

“No, he wouldn’t,” Lily said, with what Remus had to think was a more honest assessment of the situation. He was about to go to the rescue when Sirius toppled over sideways onto the pile of bedding.

“Padfoot?” Remus asked, kneeling down beside him.

Sirius’ eyes were mostly closed and he was grinning happily to himself. In the light of dawn, he somehow made a drunken stupor look like innocence.

“Come on now, Lily,” James was saying from the hall. “Let go of me for just one step so we can get started on the stairs.”

Sirius made a pleased note in his throat and grabbed Remus’ knee, squeezing hard. “I’m _seventeen_ , Moony,” he said, voice slurred and soft.

“You’re very drunk,” Remus told him, curling up next to him, smiling like a fool.

“Someone could take advantage of me,” Sirius said dreamily, rolling onto his back.

Remus looked at him, his face slack with happiness, his hair tousled and his shirt untucked enough to bare his stomach. It would have been very easy to push that shirt up a little further and drop a kiss on that bare, warm skin. Instead, he said softly, “Happy birthday, Sirius.”

Then he lay down to sleep, listening to Sirius snuffle and mumble beside him.


	8. Chapter 8

Just before noon, they emerged from the cool and shadowed earth to find Lily Evans waiting with a bucketful of peaches. She was sitting cross-legged in the shade, leaning against the wall with her eyes closed, her hands cupped around a peach, its golden skin glowing warmly against her skin.

“Well, well,” said Gideon, grinning. “Beauty, thy name is Evans. Those for us, gorgeous?”

“Leave her alone,” James said irritably. “You’re too old for her.”

“Oh, Gid, the minions are revolting,” Fabian said, sniggering.

Sirius shot him a disgusted look and stalked past him to offer his hand to Lily. “Hangover better yet, Evans?”

“Fuck off,” she said, opening her eyes. “And wash your hands before you eat.”

Sirius huffed and swung his wand around lazily, muttering, “ _Scourgify._ ”

He’d been in a foul mood all morning, and his spell blasted the dirt off Remus so hard it left his hands stinging.

“Fuck, Padfoot!” Peter squeaked.

Remus ignored the resulting scuffle and helped himself to a peach.

“Any luck with this tunnel?” Lily asked. She still looked a little wan, but nowhere near as sick as she had when they apparated in this morning.

He shook his head. “It’s fine until halfway, but then it turns back on itself and leads here, just like the rest of them. We’re managed to plot the place where the spell makes it loop, though.”

“Yeah?”

“Right under the school walls.”

“Damn. How many passages left to try?”

Remus looked up at the sky, letting its brightness sting his eyes. The only passage they hadn’t tried yet was the one from the Shack to the Willow. He knew that it had protections on it, like the Shack had, charms to make sure the system which confined him could not be compromised from outside.

He didn’t want the Prewetts to see the inside of the Shack; to set their busy minds upon the puzzle of it.

Sirius shouldered past him, grabbing a rosy-cheeked peach out of the bucket. He turned it over in his hands, eyes pale and distant as he studied it, one long finger brushing across its fuzz.

“It’s for eating,” Remus said.

Sirius looked up at him, brows drawing together. Then, his gaze fixed on Remus, he sank his teeth into the peach, his tongue darting out to catch the juice as it spurted across his face. As Remus watched, unable to look away, Sirius devoured the peach, lips sucking the juice from each soft section before he wolfed it down. When he pulled the bared stone away, his mouth was wet and glistening, golden juice smeared around his lips.

“Remus,” Lily was saying, sounding annoyed. “Remus, the tunnels?”

Still looking at Remus, Sirius licked his lips slowly, eyes lidded.

“There’s one more,” Remus said hoarsely, not looking at her. His voice dropped to a whisper. “But…” He dragged his attention away from Sirius to tilt his head towards the Prewetts

Lily stood up, leaning against the wall, and raised her voice. “Oy, Ginger!”

Fabian Prewett turned to face her, looking surprised. “Talking to me, gorgeous?”

“How much money do you make?” Lily demanded.

“Enough to keep you in luxury,” Gideon vowed.

“Fine,” she said. “You can get lunch then, as we’re all penniless students. Take your idiot brother and buy us all some sarnies, all right?”

“Er,” said Fabian. “That’s a little bit domineering, you know.”

Lily snorted. “I would have thought you liked domineering women. Do I have to remind you that it’s my friends who know the tunnels? Be nice to them, or they might just bugger off home.”

“Well, when she puts it like that,” Gideon murmured to Fabian.

“And she’s not wrong about the domineering women,” Fabian whispered back.

Gideon snapped his fingers and dug a notebook out of his pocket. “We’ll be taking your lunch orders, then, minions.”

The moment they apparated away, Lily lunged forward and grabbed Remus’ arm. “Right. The tunnel you don’t want to show them. Quick.”

“Er,” Remus said, torn. He didn’t want Lily to see the inside of the Shack either. She didn’t know what he was, and he didn’t want her to know, didn’t want her bracing kindness to turn to disdain.

“Thing is, Evans,” Sirius drawled. “It’s kind of private. Y’know, the four of us against the world.”

She paled a bit, but lifted her chin. “Don’t give me that shit, Black. You don’t get to leave me behind.”

“Lily,” James said, fussing with his glasses.

“It’s okay,” Remus blurted out. She might not work it out at all, and he couldn’t take that little hidden look of rejection, not now Sirius had adopted her as one of their friends.

She looked at him consideringly, and then asked gently, “Where to?”

“The Shrieking Shack,” he said and started down the road.

She dashed after him. “Isn’t that haunted?”

“No,” he said bleakly. “Not by ghosts.”

Sirius pushed past her to walk by Remus’ side, his shoulders tense. “Moony?” he started.

“It’s okay,” Remus said and lowered his voice. “Let’s not make a big fuss about it, please.”

Sirius made a grumbling noise, but then stuck his hands in his pockets, and said, “You didn’t buy me a drink, Moony.”

“You didn’t need any more drinks,” Remus said, baffled. “You’d had more than enough.”

“I wasn’t _that_ drunk,” Sirius replied, shooting him a sulky glance.

“Yes, you were,” Remus said, flashing back to Sirius lolling across the parlour floor like the personification of temptation. “You were harsh on Lily just now.”

“She can take it,” Sirius said, hitching his shoulder as if he’d been stung.

It was, in a way, McGonagall’s fault, that Lily was here. It was McGonagall who had been most disappointed with Sirius after the Snape incident, and McGonagall who had finally lost patience with Lily complaining about their behaviour. Pairing Lily with Sirius in every class she had any influence over had been the first step. Telling Lily that if she wanted to make Head Girl she had to stop Sirius from getting himself expelled had been the next. Over the last year or so, the two of them had gone from outight loathing to grudging respect to a fiery loyalty that even Remus didn’t quite understand. It was like a milder version of what James and Sirius had, all insults and threats of violence until someone else intervened and their ranks closed.

He just wished she would extend the same respect to James and save them all from putting up with what James termed his romantic streak and everyone else viewed as a stalkerish obsession.

Getting into the Shrieking Shack from the outside was not easy, for the sake of the entire locality, but there was a board under the eaves which had nails which could be charmed off, and they all managed to squirm in. While the others were dusting themselves down, Remus knelt down and fixed the board back in place, using the strongest charms he knew.

After a moment, Sirius knelt down beside him, and added his own charms, his knuckles brushing Remus’ as they held their wands side by side.

By the time he was satisfied, the others had clattered down the stairs to the main room. Remus followed Sirius down, bracing himself.

Lily was standing in the middle of the room, her hands clapped over her mouth as she gazed at the broken furniture, the clawed walls, the ripped hangings and the bloodied floor. As Remus reached the bottom of the stairs, she swung to stare at him, her eyes wide with shock and compassion.

“Remus,” she breathed, and he went cold. She knew. Lily Evans knew.

“It’s,” he stammered. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”

She made a shocked sound in the back of the throat and lunged forward to hug him, pressing her face into his shoulder. “Oh, God, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Remus. It isn’t fair.”

Remus held onto her, shaking. It was a moment before he could take a breath, and by then Sirius was demanding, “And how do you know, Evans?”

She drew back from Remus, dashing her hand under her eyes. “Severus guessed.”

“And he just went around _telling_ people?” Sirius snarled.

“I was his best friend then!” she fired back. “I don’t think he had anyone else to tell!”

“Good!” Sirius snapped.

“You have no right to talk about him and this, Sirius Black! None at all!”

“Enough!” James said, his voice cutting through the tension. “You okay, Moony?”

Remus nodded, still a little shaken by the sudden hostility in the room.

“Right, then everyone else can shut the fuck up about this. To Hogwarts, comrades!”

Lily looked taken aback, but followed him quietly. Sirius scowled, then looped his arm around Remus’ neck and headed towards the passage.

Even this deep down, the ceiling of the tunnel was dry and cracked. Dust stirred around their feet, glittering in the light of overlapping spells, tinged blue from Peter’s wand and a little green from Lily’s. Remus followed quietly, bumping into Sirius as they were crowded together by the narrowness of the tunnel. He rarely had time to pay attention to the passage, either sick with the nearness of his transformation or already the beast. It made him think of his Muggle grandfather, who had been a miner in the trenches of World War 1, digging through the fetid mud below the battlefields, locked in darkness as his peers were torn apart by the shells above.

After a long time, James said, “Past the walls. Look out for any sign we’re coming back towards the Shack.”

“Pretty sure this is the Hogwarts end,” Peter said.

Remus couldn’t tell yet, but by the time the roots began to show through the ceiling it was obvious. They’d made it to the Whomping Willow.

Getting past it was a matter of practice, and then they all hurried across the grounds towards the front of the school. Everything was quiet, with not even an owl or rabbit stirring. The sound of the wind brushing over the forest was very loud.

The front doors were closed. They stood before them as the sun burned down, gazing up at the silent castle.

“We can try the other doors,” James said, and started walking widdershins around the side of the castle.

By the time they’d been right round, it was clear that all the doors were sealed.

“Right, then,” Sirius said, with a slightly manic grin (it was hot, and there had been almost no shade to negate the heat reflecting off the castle walls). “Plan B.”

“Which is?” Lily asked.

“Pick a window, Pete.”

Peter chewed his lip and darted Lily a nervous glance. “They’re all a bit high, Pads.”

Sirius gave him an incredulous look, which Remus understood. As Wormtail, Peter had once climbed up the side of Gryffindor tower to creep into the Seventh Year girls’ dorm.

“I see the problem, Pete,” James said. “But she knows the first half. Reckon we can trust her with the rest.”

“We can,” Sirius snapped.

“The rest of what?” Lily asked, frowning.

James and Sirius both looked at Peter, waiting. After a moment, he nodded, though Remus thought he was still a little reluctant.

“They did it for me,” he said quickly, hoping to ease Peter’s concern. “It’ll sound crazy, but they did it for me. They didn’t want me to be on my own at full moons.”

She switched her gaze to him. “They did what?”

“The wolf only wants to hurt humans,” he said, trying to put into his voice how much he needed her to understand. “It doesn’t hate animals.”

“We’re animagi,” Sirius sad gruffly. “And, yeah, it’s as illegal as fuck, but who cares?”

“Look, just break that window,” Peter said. “Then I’ll go first and you two can show off while I’m getting us in.”

Sirius nodded and turned round to grub in the earth for a stone. He rolled his shoulder back and then hurled it at the window Peter was pointing at. It smashed with a satisfying crash, glass disappearing back into the darkness within. Peter gave a little sigh, hunched his shoulder and shrank. A moment later, the rat was sitting up at Lily’s feet, whiskers twitching.

“Oh!” she said.

Wormtail scrunched up his nose and then went shooting off across the dry grass. He started up the wall, claws digging into tiny imperfections.

“Are you all rats?” Lily asked.

Sirius sniggered. “Nah. Pete’s just unlucky.”

“But useful,” James pointed out mildly.

Sirius gave him an open-mouthed grin and then transformed.

Lily jumped a little as the huge dog appeared in front of her, eyes glinting and black fur glossy and long. Then Padfoot sat back on his haunches and offered her a paw to shake.

“Oh, god, you’re ridiculous in any shape, aren’t you?” she said, and he wuffed in amusement.

“Don’t encourage him,” Remus said. “He spends far too much time in that form already.”

She rolled her eyes and said, “And you, Potter?”

“Give me some space,” James said, stepping back a little and raising his head in a familiar gesture. Then, looking straight at Lily, he changed, stretching into the strong shape of the stag.

Remus’ breath caught in his throat. He was used to the dog and the rat, but he rarely saw Prongs except on moon nights. He looked different in sunlight, his coat redder and his eyes softer. The last touches of velvet on his antlers looked as soft as peach skin.

Lily drew in a slow breath, and took a step closer, holding out her hand. Prongs stepped in, lowering his head carefully to brush against her palm, his antlers barely touching her hair.

“He’s a red deer,” Remus said, feeling the familiar pang of envy that he couldn’t just change at will into something relatively benign. “They’re endangered now, but they used to be kings of the forest. With those antlers and his front legs, he can fight off a wolf or a bear.”

“Thank you, David Attenborough,” Lily said, but without bite.

Behind them, the doors creaked open, and Peter remarked, “Told you he’d show off.”

Prongs sighed, and then faded back into James, his face still resting in Lily’s hand. She dropped her hand quickly, but didn’t stop staring at him, her eyes still full of wonder.

“Place is empty,” Peter said cheerfully. “Smells bad, though, like magic gone wrong.”

“Let’s investigate, then,” James said, stepping away from Lily. “Are you planning to stay like that?”

Sirius barked cheerfully, wagging his tail, and nudged his head under Remus’ hand. It was a comforting touch, and Remus scratched him behind the ears to show his appreciation.

“Leave him alone, Prongs,” he said lightly. “He’s less annoying like this.”

That got him dog drool all down his leg, but the others were laughing. Side by side, they climbed up the steps and into the shadowy and silent school.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _All your life you live so close to truth, it becomes a permanent blur in the corner of your eye, and when something nudges it into outline it is like being ambushed by a grotesque._ , little shift in reality today, not quite AU (and no attempt at historical accuracy

Remus Lupin had never intended to be a pirate. Indeed, being of a somewhat sickly constitution, due to a severe illness in his early youth, he had never intended to go to sea at all. Devoting himself to the study of medicine, he had achieved his doctorate at an uncommonly early age, only to discover himself, at the age of one and twenty, in a most unfortunate social dilemma. His fortune was modest, but not insignificant, and that in combination with his mild manner and gentle countenance, had made him the target of every matchmaking mama for thirty miles. As Remus had no desire to settle into domesticity with any simpering miss, and his chest still troubled him in the winter, he had resolved to remove himself to a warmer climate and set up a medical practice in Port Royal.

Right now, he couldn’t quite bring to mind the sequence of events that had stymied that plan, but what mattered was that he had found himself here, ship’s doctor of the privateer _Gryffindor_.

His workload this morning had been rather light – a seaman to treat for the pox and a rope burn in need of ointment and bandaging. That done, he had decided to indulge himself with reading a treatise he had bought on their last stop in Tortuga. He had brought his book up to the foredeck where he could sit comfortably in the glorious Caribbean sunshine and enjoy – well, he wasn’t sure of the title of the book, now he thought on it. Looking down at its open pages, it appeared to be written in gibberish, mere strings of words and letters which made no sense. He could not even perceive some structure which might suggest it was encoded.

How bizarre. Perhaps he had been sitting in the sun too long.

Sighing, he closed the book, and looked out across the ship. He had become increasingly fascinated with the rough democracy of the pirate life, so different from the political hierarchy of his homeland. Both Captain Potter and the quartermaster Pettigrew had been chosen by the men, though he was sure that Potter would have risen through any system. He was a man obviously born to leadership. Rumour had it that both he and Sirius Black, the first mate, were disgraced scions of noble English families, and Remus could well believe it.

“You’re looking very hot, doctor,” that same Black now drawled. “You should take some clothes off and let the sun kiss that lily-white skin of yours.”

“I am a gentleman, Mr Black,” Remus managed, his mouth, as always, going a little dry at the sight of Black lolling against the side rail, his slim hips cocked. “Unlike some, I will continue to carry myself appropriately.”

Black laughed, a low, dark sound that made Remus want to shiver despite the heat. He had cast off his wide-cuffed coat and was attired in merely his tight breeches and loose shirt. The shirt hung open halfway down his chest, and whilst Black was undeniably a perfect specimen of masculinity, Remus was struggling to maintain a purely scientific reaction to that expanse of tanned skin. His hair, as dark and glossy as a raven’s wing, was tied in a neat queue at the back of his neck.

“I could remove the shirt entirely, if you like,” Black suggested, reaching out to loosen Remus’ cravat.

“There is a lady onboard,” Remus said tartly, knocking his hand aside.

Black took a step closer, close enough that Remus could smell a faint hint of his sweat. “Oh, I think Miss Evans has given up all hope of reforming me. But you, doctor, you just can’t resist me, can you?”

Remus took a prudent step backwards, suddenly plagued by a sense of unease. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t how he and Sirius talked, surely. Something was wrong here.

A feminine shriek rang out from the bridge, and they both turned in time to see Miss Evans bring her parasol down hard onto Captain Potter’s head. The Lion of the Spanish Main was quite hopelessly besotted with their red-haired captive, who did not return his feelings. Being a gentleman born, Potter had been trying his utmost to court her even since – wait, when had Lily come aboard? She seemed as much a staple of the crew as Remus himself, but he couldn’t remember how they had captured her or why she hadn’t been offered for ransom in any of the ports they frequented.

Something was really not right here.

“Black,” he said, turning to ask him what he could remember. But Black was only inches away from him, his lips curved into a lascivious grin.

“Doctor,” he murmured. “I think I need some medical attention. I’m feeling terribly faint.”

Remus twitched. Black kept doing this, and he couldn’t work out why: whether Black had somehow divined his own predilections and was making a joke of them, or whether this was some strange kind of masculine humour which Remus’ solitary childhood had left him ill-equipped to understand. Black was not of his inclination: he was universally adored by the ladies to the point where the whores would line the docks when the _Gryffindor_ made port, screaming for his favour.

“We could go to my cabin so you could examine me,” Black purred. “I’ve been having these terribly distracting dreams which keep me from sleeping. I could tell-”

“How did we meet?” Remus said abruptly.

Black drew back, looking a little disgruntled. “We took you off the _Ravenclaw_ at Antigua. You cut my arm open and then sewed it up again an hour later without as much as an apology.”

“Well, yes,” Remus said. “But do you _remember_ it? Really?”

Black frowned quickly, and Remus could see his restless intelligence at work.

“What can you remember?” Remus asked. “What can you actually remember, as if it was real, and what’s just things you think you know?”

“You were born to make my head ache,” Black grumbled, but he was looking worried. “There are logs, you know. We can check where we went.”

“You can’t remember any of it, either, can you?” Remus asked triumphantly. “This is all wrong, Padfoot.”

Black gave him a startled look. “What did you call me?”

“I don’t know,” Remus said, head spinning. “It just came out.”

“Logs,” Sirius said fiercely, grabbing Remus’ wrist and dragging him towards the hatch.

The ship’s records were kept in Potter’s cabin, locked into a lattice-fronted cupboard. Black spread them across the desk with frantic haste, and they bent over to study them.

Like Remus’ treatise, the logs were full of nonsense.

“This isn’t _real_ ,” Black said, sounding heartbroken. “None of this is real.”

“I’m sorry,” Remus said, putting a hand on his shoulder.

Black made a harsh little sound of frustration and grabbed him, shoving him back against the table. Remus was still gaping when Black’s mouth descended on his. Black’s lips were hot, and Remus moaned and clutched the other man’s shirt as his mouth was plundered. There was a hard thigh pushing between his legs, and he whimpered and pressed his own hips forward, working his erection into the crease of Black’s thigh, feeling the answering thrust against his own leg. Black’s hand snaked down to cup him through the rough cloth of his breeches and Remus keened into his mouth, lost beyond words.

“Fuck,” Black moaned, his hand tightening convulsively. “Oh, fuck, Moony, you’re _noisy_!”

Remus groaned in agreement and suddenly Black was on him, tearing off his cravat and waistcoat, fingers clumsy as he kept jerking his hips against Remus’. He ripped Remus’ shirt open with a snarl that made Remus shudder.

Then he stopped, running his fingers very lightly up Remus’ chest.

“What?” Remus demanded.

“I was expecting scars,” Black said, fingers circling a nipple. “Why was I expecting scars, Moony?”

And Remus remembered the wolf.

It rolled over him like a sudden frost, the pain and the wretched pull of the moon and the way that everyone’s mouths sneered around the word _werewolf_.

“Remus!” Sirius said, sounding frantic. “Remus, what’s wrong?”

He closed his eyes, leaning forward to drop his head against Sirius. He was no longer desperate to knot himself into Sirius, but he was cold now, and he needed the warmth of Sirius’ skin.

“Remus!”

“I’m a monster,” Remus said bleakly, listening to Sirius’ heart thunder.

Sirius’ arms tightened around him. “No, you’re not,” he said fiercely, and Remus knew now that he had heard that before and it had comforted him then too.

“What can you remember?” he whispered.

Sirius went still. Then after a moment, he said, “The black house. There were things in the dark.”

“A castle,” Remus said.

Sirius’ fingers curled at the nape of his neck. “Hogwarts.”

“We all went inside,” Remus said. “We were looking for someone.”

“For Dumbledore,” Sirius said, soundind sad. “I remember now.”

“Yeah,” Remus said.

“I liked being a pirate, Moony.”

“Me, too.”

“Well, fuck.”

Remus was suddenly flushed with heat as he remembered what they’d been doing a few moments before. All he could think of was the sudden fantasy of lying back across the map table, with Sirius fucking him as the warm light streamed through the window. “Erk,” he said.

“I am not having sex with you just because we’re in an imaginary pirate ship!” Sirius protested.

“Oh,” Remus said, coming to his senses. Of course, this was just the illusion. Sirius didn’t want to sleep with him in the real world, and now he had his memories back here things had to go back to normal. Reluctantly, Remus stepped away and said, as calmly as he could, “Of course, we just got caught up in the scenario. Don’t worry about it – you’re still straight really.”

“I- what? Moony!” Sirius said, blinking.

“Let’s go and find the others,” Remus said, heading out of the cabin as fast as he could move. “Or do you think a _finite incantatem_ would do?”

“Not wandless,” Sirius said, after a moment. “If it’s some sort of mind control, we’re probably well on the way to breaking it, just by getting our memories back.”

Remus turned back to say something, catching a glimpse of the Jolly Roger flying at the mast, a dog’s grinning head above two crossed bones, before the scene dissolved around them.

#

“Oooh,” Lily groaned, somewhere nearby. “What the hell was that?”

Remus blinked up at the ceiling of the Charms corridor, seeing portraits move from the corner of his eyes.

“Some kind of daydream charm, I think,” Peter said.

“Huh,” Lily said, sounding unimpressed. “I do not want to know which of you lot has pirate fantasies. And if I ever find out who put me in a frigging crinoline, there will be blood.”

“Why would someone hit us with one of those?” James asked. “You okay there, Padfoot? Remus?”

“Fine,” Remus said quietly, and sat up. “Let’s get the map out. If there’s someone else here, I don’t think they’re friendly.”

“It’s getting dark,” Sirius said. He sounded pensive, and when Remus glanced over at him, blushing a little, he saw that Sirius hadn’t moved yet, gazing through the nearest window with wide eyes.

Lily looked at her watch. “We’ve lost about eight hours.”

“No wonder I’m hungry,” Peter said.

James spread the map out on the floor and they all gathered round.

“What is that?” Lily asked.

None of them answered, but James reached out and tapped the map gently. “I solemnly swear I am up to no good.”

“Bloody hell,” Lily breathed as the map filled before them.

Remus had never seen the castle so empty. There were the five dots which represented them, huddled together in a little knot. Beyond that room after room and corridor after corridor were empty. Even the ghosts seemed to have disappeared.

“What’s that?” Peter said, pointing at Dumbledore’s office. There were two dots there, but the name tags were blurred and unreadable, as if the ink had run.

“Dunno,” Sirius said. “Worth checking, though.”

“Looks like our only lead,” James said, folding the map up again. “Stay sharp, folks, and watch for any more charms heading our way. If anyone starts drooling and speaking tongues, take cover.”

“So that’s every time you open your mouth, then, Potter?” Lily asked sweetly, and they continued into the castle.


	10. Chapter 10

They avoided three more daydream traps on the way to Dumbledore’s office, by the simple means of borrowing a cageful of doxies from the Dark Arts classroom and sending them ahead.

“What’s the point?” Sirius demanded, toeing aside the latest blank-eyed and giggling doxy. “Why empty the castle and fill it with something like this? Why not just use an asphyxiating mist or something?”

“Well, I’m glad they didn’t,” Lily said, as they turned into the corridor below Dumbledore’s office. “Oh, my God.”

The corridor was strewn with debris: a red umbrella turned inside out, shattered and splintered chairs, glass alembics shattered and leaking potions. The statue of the gargoyle that hid Dumbledore’s office was face down on the flagons, and murky water was running down the stairs, steaming faintly.

All of the portraits along the hall were empty, vacant fields with confused sheep milling around in search of a shepherd, knocked over chairs where bewigged old wizards usually sat and ships wallowing without a crew. Yet, Remus kept sensing movement in them out of the corner of his eye, little flickers which stopped when he turned to look.

James and Sirius had both drawn their wands, and were approaching the stairs carefully. Remus waved Peter and Lily ahead, and took the end point. He and Pete had realised years ago that the other two would always be the first into danger, so they had worked out their own system for back-up. Before James had reached the bottom the the stairs, Pete had neatly nipped the map from his hands and was frowning down over it.

The stairs were slippery, the water warm and slimy around their bare ankles. As they climbed, the sound of running water grew louder and louder and the air became muggier, full of spray and a green, fetid scent.

The water was getting faster, splashing around them. There were droplets hanging in to Lily’s bright hair and along Sirius’ cheekbones. The staircase wasn’t moving, so they climbed it step by step, lifting themselves through the dark. All the sconces were out, and they lit their wands again, light reflecting off the rushing water to dance like lace up the sides of the walls.

When they reached the top of the stairs, they all stopped and stared.

A waterfall filled the space where Dumbledore’s door should have been. Sirius lifted his wand silently and they all looked up to see water pouring from the open mouths of the row of ancient statues over the door.

“But those have always been there,” James whispered. “They’re really old.”

“Teachers who died in service to the school 1000 to 1500 AD,” Peter said. “Cleaned them once.”

“I think we’ve cleaned the whole school between us,” Remus said wistfully. “What now?”

James reached out and poked a finger through the water, to shouts of protest from everyone except Sirius. “Doesn’t hurt, and the door seems to be open behind there. Wonder why old Dumbles hasn’t come out yet?”

“Let’s go and find out,” Sirius suggested and went splashing into the waterfall, wand out.

“Why couldn’t the hat put me in Hufflepuff with sane people?” Lily wailed and charged after him.

James went after her, and Peter and Remus were left outside.

“We probably should send for help at this point,” Peter said, folding up the map and muttering an impervious charm over it.

“We’re not going to, though, are we?” Remus said, raising an eyebrow.

“Course not,” Peter said, readying his wand, and they followed the others through the waterfall.

It was dark on the other side, and Remus immediately stumbled into Sirius.

“Steady,” Sirius said, catching his arm, his touch making Remus flush with heat. His stomach was roiling suddenly, as if the room was turning over just a little too slowly to be noticeable. It was dark here, the skies outside black and starry, though it had only been late dusk when they left the corridor below.

There was a lamp on the floor one level down, casting a small glow of yellow light. Dumbledore was lying beside it, his eyes closed and his breathing slow. Part of his beard was singed.

“Headmaster!” Lily gasped, dashing across to him.

“James,” Remus said. “The moon’s up.”

James turned to look out of the window. “How many hours did we lose this time?” he asked softly.

Remus stumbled out into a patch of moonlit floor, feeling his head spin and his skin go clammy. The moon was sailing past the window, an almost full curve in a cloudless sky.

“Either we’ve lost the best part of a month,” he said. “Or we’ve gone back two days. It was waning. It shouldn’t be that close to full.”

“Remus!” Lily snapped. “You’re the first aider.”

“Sorry,” he said and struggled down to her, catching at the rail for balance. When he knelt down beside Lily, she shot him an anxious glance too.

Someone had dragged Dumbledore onto a pile of cushions and thrown a thin blanket over him. His heeled shoes were sitting neatly by his feet.

Remus fumbled for a pulse, trying to shake off the feeling that it was horribly invasive to see Dumbledore like this, unconscious and helpless.

“You’ll find,” a cool, aristocratic voice said from the shadows, “that he was stunned.”

Remus jerked round to point his wand at the voice, aware that the other four were moving as one.

“How brave,” the cool voice said. “Rest assured, I am quite unarmed.”

“Then come out where we can see you!” James snapped.

There was a faint shuffling sound, and an old man crept forward. He looked very frail, with completely white hair curling right down his back, and a pointed, wrinkled face. His robes were plain, and a little ragged around the edges.

“When I followed him through the Floo, I was also struck by a stunning spell of unusual force. I recovered relatively soon, however, so I believe Albus must have taken the full force of the spell.” He made his slow way to the headmaster’s chair and sat down, regarding them all with a faint smile. “So, tell me, why, with all the wizards who dwell in this castle, they only send a group of students to rescue Albus Dumbledore?”

“Maybe we will,” Sirius said. “First, though, how about you tell us who the hell you are?”


	11. Chapter 11

The stranger gave them a little, slow smile. With the low flicker of the lamplight as the only illumination, that smile looked more than a little wicked, and Remus felt uneasy all over again. This man might be old, but so was Dumbledore, and no one underestimated him.

“I am the Abbé Faria,” he announced. “An simple _rennervate_ should suffice, young sir.”

Lily snorted from where she was kneeling. “I’ve read that book, and bloody tedious that bit of it was, too.”

“Gracious. Albus, are you actually educating them? How subversive. Oh, another name, then. Napoleon set a poor example by losing, so I shall pass on that. Hesperus is a little hubristic. Ah, for a lady of literary tastes, try this: call me Ishmael.”

Lily narrowed her eyes. “Whatever your name is, mate, I really don’t like you.”

“A cut direct,” ‘Ishmael’ murmured.

“ _Rennervate_ ,” Remus whispered, pulling his wand up in the required movement.

Dumbledore groaned faintly and opened his eyes, blinking. Then he passed out again.

“Repeat the spell in five minutes,” the old man said, and there was a sudden hint of anxiety in his voice. “I don’t know how many he took, and he is not a young man.”

“While we’re waiting,” Sirius growled, still standing above them by the doorway. “You can tell us how you got here.”

“Ah, the combination of cheekbones and ill temper is quite unmistakeable. You must be a Black. Are you of the scheming persuasion or are you one of the lunatic strain?”

Sirius gave him a charming grin and purred, “Push me and find out. Please, go ahead. I’ve had a really shitty week and I’d love a little challenge.”

‘Ishmael’ sighed. “A shame. The scheming ones tend to be far more entertaining conversationalists. The younger Phineas was a delightful correspondent until his disinheritance. His death was quite the tragic loss.”

“He _will_ hex you if you piss him off too much,” James said. “Now, right now, all we know of you is that we just found you in a cursed room with an unconscious Dumbledore. I think you can understand why we’re not feeling too trustful.”

“Youth is so impetuous,” ‘Ishmael’ said peevishly. “This once, I swear on the blood of wizardkind, I am not responsible. After paying one of his habitual visits, Albus returned home through the Floo. He is usually very fast to seal the fireplace behind him, so when it continued to burn for an hour after he left, I decided to investigate. I found him like this.”

“So why not go back through the Floo and get help?” Lily asked.

He looked a little shifty. “My, ah, residence, is a little austere, and some distance from any help I could summon. I thought it best to stay here and do what I could.”

“How many times have you tried to revive him?” Remus asked.

The old man went very still in his chair. Then he said, “Regrettably, I do not have a wand, and his will not cooperate with me. It still hates me, you must understand. Perhaps because I stole it from its previous owner.”

“Wands don’t have feelings,” Lily snapped.

“No? Then lend me yours, young lady. Let us see if it is more or less powerful in my hands than yours.”

“No,” Lily said, knuckles tightening around her wand.

“Then use your friend’s yourself. Show me there is nothing more to a wand than wood and core.”

“I really, really don’t like him,” Lily announced.

“We’d worked that out,” Remus said dryly. “I’m more worried about the fact we’ve travelled in time. The Perseids should have faded by now, and look at them.”

“Sparkly,” Sirius said dismissively, but the smile he shot Remus was proud, albeit a little close to a leer. “So, _Ishmael_ , I have a hypothesis. What was the date when Dumbledore left you?”

“August the twentieth,” the man breathed, eyes dark in the shadows. “A long time ago.”

“That’s next week,” Remus complained. His moon sense was all wrong and it was making him want to throw up. He didn’t do time travel.

‘Ishmael’ shook himself. “August 12th. About 3am, your time.”

“Which is when the staff all got thrown out of the castle,” James said. “I wonder how long it would have taken Dumbledore to wake up without help.”

“And if he did manage to get out of here,” Lily said softly. “How long before he hit one of those daydream traps and lost more hours?”

“But why?” Peter said. “Why get him out of the way? Why not just kill him?”

“Tomorrow,” Sirius said, his eyes cold and bleak. “The Death Eaters are gathering at  
Avebury. They will be initiating new acolytes, and one presumes You-No-Who intends a certain number of atrocities-“

“Call him by his name!” ‘Ishmael’ snapped, his voice slicing over Sirius’. “Fear of a name increases its power. Second-rate theatricality!”

“Compared to what?” Remus asked blankly.

“Grindelwald, I should think,” Sirius said casually. “Swearing on the blood of wizardkind – that was his lot who did that. Plenty of wizards found all those shiny trappings rather appealing until the bloodbaths started on the Continent. Fascism’s so much more fun when it’s just an idle daydream, right, _Ishmael_?”

Everyone’s wands were up again as ‘Ishmael’ lifted his head to stare at Sirius. For a moment, there was something very ugly on the old man’s face. Then he laughed a little, and said sadly, “You always did have a gift for finding the clever ones, Albus.”

“What are you?” James demanded.

“A man with regrets.” He lifted his head. “This much is true, young lion. Whatever I may have been, whatever I may yet be, part of me is always Dumbledore’s man. And I wonder who you all are, given one of you is so familiar with Voldemort’s movements.”

“I was disinherited two days ago,” Sirius said casually, and then grinned widely. “Fuck, that sounds good.”

“Congratulations on your survival. Perhaps time for another attempt to revive Albus, young man.”

“Remus Lupin,” he said.

‘Ishmael’’s face lit up. “Ah, then Sirius Black, James Potter and Peter Pettigrew, am I right? Of the disco-dancing furniture and the depilating potions? Your fame proceeds you.”

“ _Rennervate_ ,” Remus murmured, trying to push aside his uneasiness. The man obviously knew Dumbledore, and that should mean he was trustworthy. After all, Dumbledore had defeated Grindelwald, right? Why would he still associate with someone who had followed the old dark wizard? The man must be reformed. But a little voice in his mind was whispering, _Dumbledore! It’s Dumbledore! Surely he_ wouldn’t! _He can’t have ever had anything to do with it!_

Dumbledore opened his eyes, staring at Remus blankly. Then he murmured, “G’rt. Prt st’n.”

“Professor?” Remus said.

Dumbledore struggled to sit up, his eyes still foggy. “Where?”

“Hogwarts, sir.”

“Good.”

“We need to get him out of here,” James said. “Out of Hogwarts, preferably.”

“The door’s invisible,” Peter said.

“You have a wand,” Sirius told him, voice dripping with disdain.

“Shut up,” Peter said, but moved to where the door should be. “Okay, then. _Finite incantatem!_ ”

The door reappeared with a sound of rushing water.

“Huh?” said Peter and poked the water with his wand. “ _That_ was meant to stop _Dumbledore_?”

“Might be something else on the door?” Sirius suggested.

“Only one way to find out,” Peter said calmly, and stepped through.

He blurred as he passed the water, and didn’t come back into focus, as if he was moving very fast. His thumbs up was clear, though.

“Right,” James said. “Moony, you next. Then Mr Ishmael there, with me. Pads and Lily can help Dumbledore.”

The water was cold as he walked through it, but the sheer relief of the moon being where it ought to be made him gasp in relief as he stumbled out the other side.

“You took ages!” Peter said impatiently, dragging him away from the door. “Watch your feet.”

“Time’s passing slower in there,” Remus said, leaning against the cold wall. “Part of the trap.”

The waterfall suddenly flared and then there was water sprayinf everywhere, and somebody was spinning through the air to smash against the wall opposite with a thin and desperate scream. James came crashing out as Remus was still shaking the water from his eyes, bellowing, “You said it was _safe_ , you fuckwit!”

“It is,” Peter yelped. “I’m fine! Moony’s fine!”

“And I’m just perfect,” ‘Ishmael’ said, and there was something different about his voice, something fresher and richer and less frail.

Remus looked at him and shivered at the sight. The fragile old man was gone. The boy sitting in the streaming water was no older than they were, with blond, curly hair and a wild look about him. As Remus gaped, he threw his head back and began to laugh, a ringing, gleeful chuckle of sheer triumph.

“I do wish you wouldn’t do that,” a very polite voice said behind them. “It really does sound like you’ve stepped out of the worst kind of melodrama.”

With a sense of impending doom, Remus turned back towards Dumbledore’s office. Leaning on Lily’s shoulder was another youth, around their age. He was looking at them anxiously through a pair of half-moon spectacles, and he seemed a little swamped by Dumbledore’s robes. His hair, the same auburn colour as Lily’s, swept down past his waist, but he was clean shaven and his long nose was unbroken. As Remus stared, he gave him a slightly shy smile and said, “Hullo. Whyever are we at Hogwarts?”

“Please tell me you aren’t Professor Dumbledore,” Remus said faintly.

He got a thoughtful look in return. “Well, I am _Albus_ Dumbledore. I’m afraid there are no professors in our family, at least to my knowledge. Oh, and my friend, of course. This is Gellert Grindelwald.”

“At your service,” ‘Ishmael’ said, sweeping a courtly bow. “And isn’t this just lovely?”

And, once more, he began to laugh.


	12. Chapter 12

Sirius snarled and launched himself at Grindelwald, teeth bared. They went crashing down the spiral staircase, head over heel, in a flare of green water and yelling. Remus went plunging after them, wand out, and heard the others crashing down the stairs behind him.

Remus skidded off the bottom of the stairs as they hit the other side of the corridor, Sirius’ hands locked around Grindelwald’s throat.

“ _Stupefy!_ ” Young Dumbledore shouted behind him, and Sirius suddenly went limp.

“ _Petrificus totalus!_ ” Remus snarled before the betrayal had finished rolling through him. Grindelwald stiffened, falling back against the floor, and Remus whirled to face Dumbledore, not sure what, if anything he was about to do.

“Enough!” James roared. “Wands on the floor!”

Remus glared at him. “He stunned Sirius.”

“Put your wand down, Moony. The man’s obviously lost his memory. Be gracious.”

Remus lowered his wand slowly, and then relaxed a little as Dumbledore did the same. With both of their wands on the flagstones, Peter scuttled forward to grab them, nabbing Sirius’ as he passed.

“Sir,” Lily said, standing at James’ shoulder. “You need to know that it’s 1976.”

Dumbledore’s eyes widened slightly, and then he said, “I had wondered about your fashions. Can you tell me how we came to be here? A time turner accident, perhaps?”

Remus could see the compassion in Lily’s eyes. “The man I helped out of that office was Professor Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts. You de-aged almost eighty years as we left. I’m sorry.”

Dumbledore’s eyes went very wide, and he sat down on the floor suddenly, ornate robes scrunching up around him. “H-headmaster. But I- I couldn’t possibly.”

“Modesty is hardly appropriate at this stage,” a disgruntled voice said from the floor. “By all accounts you have excelled at the job. Damnation, boy, did you have to curse me quite that hard? I can’t feel my toes. I am an old man, you know.”

Lily lifted her wand. “Wait. _You_ have your memories and he doesn’t?”

“And I’m sure your suspicious mind will find fault with that,” Grindelwald said petulantly. “I remind you, however, that I was not hit with multiple stunners before being forcibly de-aged. And, of course, though modesty forbids me from mentioning it, I was-“

“The second most evil wizard of the twentieth century?” Peter suggested brightly.

“ _Second!_ ” Grindelwald hissed. “You put me behind that melodramatic, second-rate lunatic!?“

“Gellert,” Dumbledore said reproachfully. “What did you do?”

“Nothing you wouldn’t have approved of,” Grindelwald said airily, and managed to roll over. “At least not at this age. I remember you, Albus. So young and fierce. Do you remember that afternoon – August, and our minds so busy that we were painting our ideas across the air in light. Do you remember how our spells tangled and spat fire at us, how we laughed? We could have done anything, all for the greater good-“

“ _Silencio!_ ” James roared.

“I really don’t think that was necessary,” Dumbledore said, frowning as Grindelwald’s mouth continued to move wordlessly.

“That was the slogan he used as he slaughtered Muggles across the length of Europe,” Remus said. “You stopped him. It’s – it’s on your chocolate frog card!”

Dumbledore shook his head, looking as shaken as Remus felt. “No. This is all wrong.”

At that moment Sirius stirred. Remus scrambled across to him.

“Moony?” Sirius asked, sounding groggy, and Remus wrapped his arm around his shoulders, pulling him up. Sirius groaned and buried his face in the crook of Remus’ shoulder.

“Are you okay?” Remus asked, running a hand down Sirius’ back.

“Little fucker bites,” Sirius managed. “Can I knock him out and piss on him?”

“No,” Remus said firmly. “It’s not nice.”

“Fucking _bit_ me, Moony!”

Remus patted his back. “Yeah, I know. Come on, you’ve only been stunned. You usually come back from that fast.”

“Bred into me,” Sirius said, his lips warm on the collar of Remus’ t-shirt.

“Oh,” said Dumbledore, sounding very subdued. “So the science of eugenics has progressed further?”

There was a moment of silence. Then Lily said, “Move. All of you, fucking _move_! We’re going to get out of here, and we’re going to give these two to McGonagall, and I don’t care what she does to them, because I can’t _listen_ to more of this!”

“I didn’t mean to distress you,” Dumbledore said politely. “Please, don’t cry.”

“Shut up!” Lily screamed, levelling her wand. “Just shut _up_! You’re supposed to be on our side! You’re supposed to defend us! You’re not like this!”

“Lily,” James said as she choked on her words. “Lily, please.”

She shook her head at him and he put his arm round her, lifting his head to stare down at the rest of them. For a moment, Remus was reminded of Prongs, standing tall in the sunlight.

“Sirius, stay with Dumbledore. Remus, Peter, with Grindelwald. Straight for the front doors.”

“Got it,” Sirius said, releasing Remus, his fingers lingering a little. He stood up and retrieved his wand from Peter before offering his hand to Dumbledore. “Let’s go. Moony, what did I miss?”

“Oh,” Remus said, dragging Grindelwald to his feet. “Dumbledore had a hissy fit about you trying to throttle Grindelwald. Grindelwald then had one about being less famous than You-Know-Who and then he made a really disturbing pass at Dumbledore and James cursed him. My wand too, please, Pete.”

“Er,” Sirius said. “Really?”

“Afraid so.”

“Seriously, let me piss on him.”

“Humans don’t do that to other humans. Not even evil ones.”

“You people are disgusting,” Dumbledore said stiffly.

“Oh, you’re one to talk, Mr Chamber Music and Ten-Pin Bowling. Forgot to mention _flirting with evil_ among your hobbies, did you?”

“Sirius, watch your back!” Remus snapped, but Dumbledore was already twisting out of Sirius’ grasp, twisting Sirius' wand out of his hand. Some wordless curse hurled Sirius along the corridor.

“ _Expelliarmus!_ ” he called, every syllable crisp and clear, and Peter was sent flying backwards, wand spinning out of his hand. Dumbledore caught it as he turned and Remus just wasn’t fast enough.

The back of the wall hit his head with a painful thud, and his wand was suddenly in Grindelwald’s hand.

“Much better,” Dumbledore said, wand drawn on James and Lily. “Now, I don’t pretend to understand what is happening here, but you are all quite clearly insane. Therefore, allow me to take over.”

“No,” Grindelwald purred, cradling Remus’ wand reverently. “Let _us_ take over.”


	13. Chapter 13

Remus was pretty sure that Sirius was too young for his heart to explode from pure internalised rage. Nonetheless, the way that Sirius was shaking beside him was not reassuring.

With his hands tied behind his back, he couldn’t even squeeze Sirius’ shoulder for reassurance, but he managed to rub his knee against Sirius’ thigh.

Sirius went completely still for a moment, his whole body a hard, tight line against Remus’ side.

“Sometimes,” Peter said reflectively, from where he was propped up further down the wall, “I wonder what life would be like if I wasn’t a wizard.”

Sirius snarled at him, started to shake again. Remus pressed his bare leg against his shin, feeling the warmth seep back and forth between them, and nudged him with his shoulder.

“No, really. What would you be doing right now, if you weren’t a wizard?”

Remus appreciated that Pete was trying to distract them all from the fact they’d just been disarmed and taken prison by the Dark Wizard Grindelwald and his favoured minion, the Evil De-aged I-Wish-He-Was-A-Clone of Albus Dumbledore, but – well, yes. This rescue mission was not going well.

“I’d be doing nothing,” Lily said, voice low and bitter. “Just living some dull, pointless life in some dull, pointless place. You lot – you have no idea what a world without magic would be like.”

“Er,” Peter said, sounding flustered. “Um. Moony?”

Remus sighed and cooperated. “I’d buy a car. One of those red ones with no top.”

“Can you even drive?” Sirius demanded. “And how would you pay for it, anyway?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Remus snapped back, feeling more stung than he should be (it was hardly the first time he’d caught the edge of one of Sirius’ moods). “I wasn’t aware that being realistic was one of the rules.”

“It’s not,” Peter put in, shuffling away from Sirius and closer to James. “Doesn’t have to be, I mean. So, big red car?”

“Forget it,” Remus said, and looked away from them all. They were in one of the big unused classrooms on the fourth floor. Desks and chairs were stacked along the back wall, dusty and abandoned, looking strangely forlorn by moonlight. A little light spilled in from the corridor, illuminating Lily’s hair and making Sirius’ pale eyes gleam. Remus could just hear Grindelwald and Not-Dumbledore-Really-Please conferring outside.

“I’d join the navy,” James said into the awkward silence. “I mean, big ships, see the world, and girls love a man in uniform, right, Evans?”

Under the cover of the resulting squabble, Sirius shifted against his shoulder and turned his head to say, “Sorry.”

The word was spoken right into his ear, warm breath brushing his cheek, and Remus twitched. He closed his eyes, trying to push his awareness of Sirius down. He was better than this; he _knew_ how to exercise self-control. It shouldn’t be this hard.

“I thought you’d want to be a pirate,” Sirius added sulkily.

“Uh,” Remus managed. Why the fuck was Sirius bringing this up? He was the one who’d made it perfectly clear that the only reason that he was ravishing Remus over the map table was because they’d landed in someone else’s daydream and that there would be no ravishing in real life. Talking about it was not going to help anyone repress. “Pirates aren’t real.”

“No,” Sirius said, sounding terribly desolate for the person who’d started this. “They’re not, are they?”

“Um,” Remus said, wanting to offer some compensation, even though he wasn’t sure what he’d done. “You could come with me. If I had a red car, I mean.”

Sirius pressed closer against his shoulder. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Just me?”

“If you like.”

“I’d like,” Sirius murmured, and his mouth was very close to Remus’ ear again, voice low and husky and entirely inappropriate for someone who was the prisoner of a Dark Wizard. Remus did not want to have a hard-on when Grindelwald finally untied them.

“G-good,” Remus stammered, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks. Sirius’ hair brushed his cheek, feather-soft.

“Where would we go?”

He’d never thought about that; never thought beyond the vague urge to just _go_ , leaving behind the brooding hills, grey crags and green water.

“Somewhere dry,” he said at last. “High and dry and golden.”

“Real mountains,” Sirius mused. “We could drive so high that there was only sky above us and we could look to the end of the world and not see another soul. Turn the engine off and hear nothing but the wind.”

Remus took a shaky breath.

“And then,” breathed Sirius (and, bloody fuck, was that his _tongue_ in Remus’ ear?) “I’d kiss you. Would that be okay, Moony?”

Remus shivered, breathless, and realising that Sirius was quivering beside him, and if he didn’t say something right now, this very second, would probably hate him forever and ever and, “Yes!” he blurted out. “Okay, yes.”

Sirius breathed out in a rush of relief, and Remus wished viciously for enough wandless magic to rip these ties off his wrists.

“We won’t get a better chance,” Peter said quietly, the intensity in his voice cutting through Remus’ rush of lust and relief.

“Go, then,” James said, and Remus blinked in their direction in time to see Peter shrivel down. Wormtail crawled out from under the ropes, shook himself, and rose into Peter again. He turned to James first, then Lily and then came for Sirius, who was bracing himself against the wall by then.

As soon as Peter loosened the knot, Sirius shook the ropes off his wrists and turned on Remus, dragging him forward and grabbing for his wrists. Remus gasped at the sudden shock of Sirius’ body slammed against his, and just had time to see Peter backing off, eyes wide, before Sirius was crushing his wrists between hot fingers and gasping, too soft for anyone else to hear, “And could I fuck you too? Would that be okay?”

Remus jerked forward in response, answering without words as his whole body reacted, shoving himself against Sirius. Sirius buried his face in Remus’ neck, breath catching.

“Padfoot,” James said softly. “Stop fucking around.”

Sirius went still. Then, slowly and with shaking hands, he untied the ropes and slid them off Remus’ wrists. Then he stepped away, shoulders set, and whispered, “Fine. What now, oh, mighty leader?”


	14. Chapter 14

“I suggest Operation Punch In The Gob,” James muttered. “Padfoot, with me. Evans, get to the back.”

“Why?” Lily demanded.

“Because you are a dazzling flower of femininity,” Sirius said dangerously. “And we live to protect you.”

“Because I’m a girl? That means I get to go first, mate. _I_ don’t have to have any qualms about kicking them in the balls.”

“Right,” Peter said after a moment. “I vote she goes first.”

“Seconded,” Remus said, and wrapped his hand around Sirius’ wrist in what would likely prove a vain attempt to stop him from doing something impetuous. Sirius shivered.

They crept to the door, pressing themselves against the wall to glance outside. Dumbledore and Grindelwald were talking, their heads close as Dumbedore frowned and gestured. As they watched, Grindelwald reached out and touched Dumbledore’s cheek, his expression strangely tender. Dumbledore looked up, smiling, and leaned forward.

Lily made a broken, betrayed sound as their lips met. James put his hand over her mouth, looking as horrified as she sounded. Peter feigned gagging. Remus stared at the wall, waiting for the signal to move, feeling his stomach turn. If they were reacting like this to Dumbledore ( _Dumbledore!_ And he supposed he should have been surprised, but, well, _Dumbledore_ ) what would they say to him?

Of course, he thought frantically, they were reacting like this to Dumbledore and _Grindelwald_ , which might be the main reason why they were horrified, but he couldn’t help but wonder if they might-

Sirius’ knuckles touched the small of his back, warm and fleeting.

Remus took a quiet breath, but wasn’t quite ready to look at anyone yet.

As he stared at the wall opposite, he realised there was something wrong with the paintings. Their movement had turned jerky – fruit-laden trees freezing mid-sway, birds stopping in the middle of the sky and running herds jolting across the field as if they’d been caught in time-lapse photography.

Grindelwald pulled back a little, and said softly, “I remember this.”

Dumbledore’s smile was wicked. “So how long _has_ it been for you, Gellert? A day? A week? Eighty years?”

“Trickery,” Grindelwald chided him.

James touched Remus’ shoulder and gestured sharply.

Fistfights were nothing new to Remus (it had taken the Slytherins years to start expecting physical violence, and James and Sirius never wasted an advantage). He couldn’t quite focus on this one, but James was already barrelling into Dumbledore and Lily was revealing a vicious streak he had never anticipated.

Then, between one swing and another, something changed. James seemed to leap from one spot to another, freezing and reappearing like the stop-start paintings. The walls of the corridor seemed to retreat, further and further away with every flicker. He could hear the wind sighing and smell something green and floral and sweet.

Then, between the flashes of reality, great trees began to grow, branches reaching out and leaves unfurling until there was nothing left of the real world, only a green and endless forest.


	15. Chapter 15

It was the time of burning, so the children of the Phoenix gathered at the heart of the garden to build the pyre, bringing with them scented boughs from the ever-bright trees, the fruit of the earth and the flowering herbs of the field. The Phoenix sat at the heart of the forest, on the island from which twelve streams sprang, and they built the pyre around him, layering pale wood on dark. The Phoenix smiled at them from the heart of the pyre, his blue eyes twinkling, and his grey beard stirring in the warm breeze.

Clasping their hands, they stood around him and called down fire and the Phoenix burnt amongst fragrant smoke.

And then, for the length of the burning, the children of the Phoenix ran free, scattering through the forest with shouts of laughter. Remus could see their white robes flickering in the distance as they ran below the spreading branches of a thousand trees; below the cedars and the cypresses, the pine and pomegranate trees. The grass was soft below their feet and the breeze ever warm and sweet, for this was the kingdom of the Phoenix, never spoiled by rain or snow, breath of frost or scorch of fire, bruising hail or weeping sleet, where the sun never burned too hot nor the snow fell too heavy. There were no cruel hills herein, nor jagged valleys, no cruel deserts or hungry seas: only the green and shimmering woods, where blossom and fruit hang side by side upon the bough.

At last he came unto the plateau’s edge, where he could look down at the clouds that swirled and danced, hiding the darkened and damaged world that lay below. That was not their world, the Phoenix promised. They need not fear its horrors and injustice. They were safe here in the forest at the top of the world, cherished under the sweep of the Phoenix’s wing.

There, on the cliff’s edge, Sirius found him and drew him back to the quiet of the forest. Sirius, brightest star of the night, wildest wind in the sky, most tempting fruit of the garden, was the one Remus prized and feared above all.

“Come run with me,” he murmured now, red lips curling by Remus’ cheek.

And they ran, deep into the fragrant and shadowed groves of the garden, while the smoke of the burning lay heavy against the bright blue sky. Their hands brushed as they ran, and soon Sirius turned and pressed Remus against the broad hard trunk of a peach tree, his mouth hot against Remus’.

Their kiss was warm and wet and hungry, and it was easy to slide his hands beneath the white cloth that covered Sirius, mapping out the arc and slope of his hips and shoulders with greedy hands. Easier still to slip the cloth from his shoulders and down, until they were both naked in the soft air, gentle breezes curling around their bare thighs.

Sirius’ skin was as golden as honey and as soft and warm as the peaches that hung in the tree above them. His mouth was sweet and his hands tender and he was hard against Remus’ hardness, filling his mind with haze and heat and hunger.

And as Remus thought he would lose all control over himself, Sirius slid to his knees. He curved his hands around Remus’ long thighs and closed his mouth over him, hot and wet. Remus braced his back against the peach tree, his curling hair catching on the rough bank, and rolled his hips forward, thrusting into Sirius’ mouth until he forgot everything but the joy of Sirius, Sirius, Sirius.

When he could think again, he was lying in the cool grass, with Sirius sprawled over him, dark hair soft against his cheek and rough breath brushing his shoulder. Remus smoothed his hand down Sirius’ long back, feeling him shiver and gasp, and then reached round to close his palm around hard heat, twisting his wrist until Sirius was moaning and writhing atop him, choking on Remus’ name.

For a while they lay there in the warm shadows, sated and content. Then they rose and washed themselves in the spring. They feasted on peaches and apricots, golden juice sliding down their fingers.

And then, as the sun sank towards a glowing dusk, all the birds of the forest sang with one voice and they knew it was time to return to the pyre. Leaving their tangled clothes behind them on the ground, they walked naked through the garden, hands entwined.

The fire was burning low now, orange and gold. The Phoenix sat in the heart of it, renewed. All his years had been seared away, leaving him clear-skinned and strong, his hair as red as the dying fire, and the bones of his back as sharp and clear as the wings of an eagle.

The others were already waiting, Lily and James and Peter in their white drapes. As Remus and Sirius drew near, the Phoenix rose from the faltering pyre. For a moment great wings of flame seemed to lift from his shoulders, blazing against the violet sky.

Then they faded and he was but a man again, restored to the fullness of his youth.

“Welcome back,” he said, voice soft and gentle.

Before Remus could reply, there was a sound like the wind belling behind a great sail, and shadows filled the sky. There was a man in the sky, balanced between wings of darkness, his golden hair the only brightness against the gloaming.

“What is this?” he demanded, settling to the ground before the Phoenix. “No, really, _what_ is this? It’s certainly not one of _my_ fantasies. Which is to say, you are aware that none of this is real, aren’t you, Albus?”

The Phoenix smiled gravely and held out his hands. “Welcome, Gellert. Will you lie with me?”

The dark-winged man blinked, before he shook his head a little and raged on. “Is this some kind of perverted Christ allegory, because I find that deeply disturbing, especially as I seem to be cast as the great enemy.”

The Phoenix tilted his head, staring at the sky. Then he said, voice very thoughtful. “Come now, Gellert. I know you’ve read the Exeter Book.”

Gellert crossed his arms. “Millenia of human endeavour to draw upon, and you still manage to find something trite. I despair of you! And furthermore, I refuse to live in your fantasy. There are worlds out there waiting for me to conquer them and I am not staying here!”

The Phoenix gave him a fond little smile. “You really should try to control your temper.”

“And aren’t these children your students? Students!”

The Phoenix glanced at them. “Acolytes, here.”

“Two of them are naked!”

For the first time, Remus felt a strong urge to go running back into the woods to find his clothes, especially when the Phoen – Dumbledore – gave them a slow, appreciative glance and murmured, “Is that a problem, Gellert?”

“Who in the world thought it was a good idea to make you an educator?” Gellert stormed past the Phoenix, shadow wings whipping out. “You! Idiot children! Listen to me! This is not real! This is some trap placed on the corridor we were in! Everything which has happened here is a dream! Not real!”

 _But it must be real,_ Remus thought, with an edge of panic, _because Sirius and I just-_

But the world was already dissolving into darkness around them.


	16. Chapter 16

Remus came to with a sick sense of horror. He was face down on a cold stone floor, fully dressed (oh, thank God, thank Merlin, thank any indeterminate deities and saints that watched over wizards and werewolves) and there was someone lying on his legs.

Not far away, he heard a faint groan, and Grindelwald said plaintively, “Albus, your castle is out of control.”

Remus opened his eyes. Grindelwald’s knees were right in front of his eyes, and there, by his thigh, was Remus’ own wand. Very delicately, so as not to attract the attention of the bitching Dark Lord a foot away, he reached out and snagged it back into his hand. Once his hand closed around the smooth willow wood, he felt better. Rolling quickly to his feet, he snapped, “ _Accio_ wands!”

Five more wands came rushing to his hands, mahogany and chestnut, elder, willow and oak. Remus rolled them into his left hand and let his own wand settle into his right, covering Dumbledore and Grindelwald as they turned to face him.

James was just starting to sit up, hooking his glasses back into place. Sirius was flat on his back, eyes half closed as he smiled to himself.

Grindelwald tensed, as if he was about to spring forward, and Remus said, “ _Stupefy!_ ” and then, because he had really had enough of today by now, followed it up with, “ _Petrificus totalus!_ ”

Grindelwald crashed over sideways, frozen legs rattling against the floor. Dumbledore looked like he was about to protest, so Remus stunned him too, and then turned to Sirius, his wand still humming in his hand. “Put a time lock on that, will you? You know I’m crap at temporal variants.”

“Wand,” Sirius murmured, voice low and eyes hooded. Remus passed it to him, feeling heat run up his arm as their fingers brushed.

“Bit pissed off, are you, Moony?” James asked brightly.

Remus turned to glare at him. “Yes.”

“So why _were_ you naked, then?” James asked, smirking. “Fancied a breeze round your bits, did you?”

Remus calmly contemplated transfiguring James’ balls into coconuts, preferably by using James’ own wand. It would only take a little swish and flick, and somebody would have far more painful things to worry about than other peoples’ temporary immodesty.

“Or,” Peter said, very carefully. “We could leave Remus alone and just concentrate on getting out of here. Or maybe just getting to the kitchens because I’m bloody starving and it must be well after midnight by now, and, hey, what happened to the house elves?”

“I think that’s a really interesting question,” Lily said, sidling around James to grab her wand out of Remus’ hand. “I second Peter’s idea. What’s the fastest route to the kitchen, lads?”

“Staircase behind the portrait of St Rocco,” Sirius said, bouncing to his feet. “They won’t move for an hour now. Should give us a chance to find out what’s up.”

“Righto,” James said. “Chuck me my wand, eh, Moony.”

Remus shot him a level look, and James backed away, hands up. “Okay, okay. A little later, then. And I’ll stop with the naked jokes, right, though come to think of it you were a fairly dishevelled pirate as well.”

“Prongs!” Peter said loudly. “I really, really think you should shut up now.”

He got his wand back for that, and Remus tucked the remaining two into his pocket and let the others lead on, levitating the two stunned wizards in front of them. As they walked, Sirius fell in beside him.

“Remus,” he murmured, voice low and soft and desperate.

“We’ll talk,” Remus promised, flashing back to the memory of lying with Sirius under impossible green and golden trees. “As soon as we get some privacy, we’ll talk.”

“Fuck privacy.”

“I need privacy,” Remus said, and then stole a glance at Sirius’ yearning, stormy face. “Sirius?”

“Remus.”

“It was beautiful,” Remus told him, blushing a little.

Sirius darted him a wild, relieved grin, and for a moment, he cupped his hand around the back of Remus’ head.

“Why are you two wankers slowing down?” James yelled.

“We don’t want to get too close to your fucked-up hair and your even more flatulent arse!” Sirius bellowed back and then went bouncing forward as they neared the portrait.

“Sirius Black!” boomed St Rocco, as they drew near. At his feet, his painted dog suddenly leapt up, throwing himself forward in a flurry of delighted barking, as if he was trying to burst out of the portrait.

“Rocco!” Sirius howled back, strutting forward. “How’s it hanging?”

“To the right,” Rocco proclaimed, making an obscene pumping gesture. “For pilgrims and sinners say the right hand is closer to heaven, don’t you know?”

“Oh my God,” Lily said faintly. “What kind of saint are you?”

“This is St Rocco,” Sirius said, grinning at her. “Patron Saint of dogs, bachelors and those who suffer under false accusations.”

“And the tile makers!” Rocco chided, shaking his finger at Sirius. “Forget not the tile makers, for they shall inherit the clay pits. Or something of the sort, I’m sure.”

“Rocco, basically, is the man,” Sirius said. “Isn’t that right, you old fraud?”

“Truer word never was spoken, young Black. So, how’s my number one bachelor these days?”

Sirius gave his cockiest grin. “Finally legal.”

Rocco let out a filthy guffaw. “Let the ladies rejoice.” He peered out of his painting. “Hullo, is that young Lupin? How are you, my boy?”

“Fine, thanks, Rocco,” Remus said politely. Rocco had another portrait up in the isolation ward of the Hospital Wing, one technically occupied by a far more ascetic incarnation of the saint, but this Rocco had a tendency to push his prissy namesake aside. Loud and crude he might be, but he was a kind presence on moon nights, offering cheerful sympathy without prejudice.

“What can I do for you young bucks today, eh, Sirius?”

“Couple of things, actually, Rocco,” Sirius said. “Firstly, we need to get down to the kitchens. Secondly, do you know what’s happening here?”

Rocco’s jolly face sobered suddenly, and his dog sank back, whining a little. “You’re more likely to know than I am. It’s your kin who are carrying it.”

Sirius’ face went still. “I left them.”

“Ah,” Rocco said, and reached down to reassure his dog. “It’s a bad thing this, sending curses through the paint. It’s hurting us all, young Black. Before long we’ll all be still.”

“What curses?” Sirius asked, leaning forward.

Rocco shook his head. “Don’t ask for more, Sirius. They’ve let us be, so far, but there’s only the two of us and they are here in their generations. I’ll not tell them you were here, but be careful. There are spies on every wall.”

“Rocco-“

But the portrait was swinging open, exposing the dark stairway behind. Sirius sighed and then touched the frame lightly. “Thanks for the warning. Well then, ladies, gentlemen and Evans, shall we?”


	17. Chapter 17

There were no house elves in the kitchen, but the stoves were still warm. James and Sirius both looked gleeful at the prospect of cooking for themselves, but Lily vetoed it fast.

“I’ve seen what you two do with a bloody potions lab,” she said, arms crossed. “I’m not eating anything you cook.”

“I need bacon, eggs, mushrooms, tomatoes, sausages, bread and oil,” Peter said from where he was already standing over the stove. Just behind him, the stunned bodies of Dumbledore and Grindelwald were heaped on the big kitchen table.

“You’re cooking breakfast at midnight?” Remus asked incredulously.

“It’s the only thing I know how to cook,” Peter said sulkily. “So unless you have a better recipe.”

“I can make sandwiches,” Remus offered.

Lily rolled her eyes. “Breakfast, then. Oy, you two. You heard the list. Go forth and forage!”

“And,” Peter added, levitating a frying pan, “see if Dumbledore’s got his keys on him. He’s out cold, so we could probably break into his wine cellar.”

James’ eyes lit up. “Nice thinking. Come on, Pads. Let’s find the booze!”

“And the bacon,” Lily snapped.

“James can get the bacon,” Sirius said. “Remus and I will go for the booze. Right?”

“Oh, what?” James protested. “Like he deserves to get in there first. Bastard hasn’t even given my wand back yet.”

Without looking away from Sirius, Remus reached into his pocket, grabbed James’ wand and threw it at him.

“This way,” Sirius said, taut and bright and hungry. He turned on his heel and went striding towards the far side of the kitchen without hesitation. Remus hurried to keep up, his breath catching as his heart danced in anticipation.

“You seem to know exactly where you’re going?” he managed, because he needed Sirius’ attention on him right now, needed it like the stars needed the night to show how bright they burned.

“I found the old git’s wine stash when I was twelve,” Sirius snarled, with far more intensity than the sentence deserved.

“What?” Remus managed. “And you didn’t share?”

“He caught me ten minutes later. He _twinkled_ , Remus.”

“Poor little Padfoot,” Remus said lightly and they were in front of a little round door, like the end of a beer barrel or a Hufflepuff’s parlour door.

“Speak, friend, and enter,” Sirius said softly, twisting the key in the lock, and the door swung open.

“Wait,” Remus said incredulously. “ _That’s_ his password?”

Sirius gave him an impatient, incredulous look and grabbed his wrist, dragging him into the room beyond. Remus just caught a sight of a low vaulted ceiling and breathed in rich, dusty heat, before the door closed behind them and he forgot everything but the urgent need to slam Sirius against it and dive for his mouth.

In the darkness he missed, catching his lips on the side of Sirius’ jaw, stubble stinging as he dragged his mouth up, fist clenching in the collar of Sirius’ t-shirt (except that it was Remus’ t-shirt really, because all Sirius’ clothes had burnt off him and he’d been wearing Remus’ old clothes all day, hanging loose and soft on his lean frame).

Then Sirius’ mouth was opening softly under his, lips pressing and catching. They both pressed forward at the same moment, chins colliding and lips slipping, and Sirius was pulling his hair, his hip jutting uncomfortably into his stomach, but everywhere they touched was flushed with heat, urging _more, more, more_ , and it didn’t matter that it was imperfect because it was real, and he’d had enough perfect, false kisses already today.

Then Sirius tore his mouth away and gasped, “Moony! Need you to see me!”

“Fucking romantic,” Remus managed and groped for his wand. “ _Lumos._ ”

Sirius’ eyes were wide and dark, his breath coming in great heaves, and his lips were red and swollen so Remus dropped his wand and kissed him again, clenching his hands around Sirius’ shoulders to haul himself closer, rubbing against him as their lips clung. Sirius’ legs parted, letting him fall forward, deeper into the kiss, and Sirius’ hands were on his arse, hot fingers sliding under his waistband. Fingertips caught on a scar, sending another shiver through him, and he moaned, shoving his hips forward as hard as he could drive them.

“Oy, Black, you great poof!” James bellowed just outside the door. “Will you hurry up with the booze? Seriously, do I need to come in and rescue you!”

“Fuck off!” Sirius bellowed.

“Why?” James boomed back, honking with laughter. “What are you doing in there? Oy, Moony, if he’s trying to get your knickers off, go ahead and hex him!”

“Seriously, Prongs, fuck off,” Remus shouted back, as Sirius twisted.

“I’m going to fucking kill him,” he snarled.

“No, you’re not,” Remus said, straightening his shorts and pulling Sirius’ t-shirt straight. “He is your friend, and it would make his mum cry.”

“Hah,” Sirius snarled and stalked into the darkness. Remus dropped his head forward against the wooden door and tried to control his breathing. Once he finally felt relatively composed, he picked his wand up and went to help Sirius.

He was deep in the vault, plucking bottles from the racks at speed. As Remus came closer, he shoved dusty bottles into his hands with a snarl. Remus squinted at the handwritten labels. “That’s quite a vintage for bacon and eggs.”

Sirius stuck two more bottles under his arm. “Don’t fucking care. After the last few days, he fucking owes us a decent drink.”

“Fair enough,” Remus said and they went back to the kitchen, lugging their hoard to James’ appreciative whistle.


	18. Chapter 18

Unfortunately, James then decided that gay jokes were the height of wit and brilliance, especially gay jokes that involved Remus as the blushing maiden and Sirius as the lecherous rake intent on despoiling him. Even Peter, whose sense of humour always ran along those lines, stopped laughing very fast. Lily pointedly took her breakfast and went and sat on the far end of the table, beyond their still immobilised captives.

But nothing seemed to stop him, much to Remus’ disgust (he had really begun to think that he would never see this James again; that he had finally grown up): not sarcasm (“Yes, James, Sirius clearly finds it impossible to resist my manly charms and has been ravishing me in the Restricted Section for the last nine months.”), nor counterattack (“Why do you keep insisting he’s bent?” Peter demanded with a nervous laugh. “Scared of the competition?”) nor reminders of his supposed maturity (“Decided on your prefects yet, Head Boy?”) nor diversions (“Harpies haven’t got a hope against the Magpies next season, have they, lads?”) nor blackmail (“Seriously, I’m going to tell Evans your dick is the size of a peanut.”) nor outright threats (“No, really, I can make the peanut thing happen.”) nor sheer profanity (“For the love of Merlin, James, just shut the fuck up! Oh, shit, no, just stop with the fucking gay jokes!”).

Meanwhile, Sirius crouched over his wine, swigging and topping it up on alternate witticisms, his expression growing steadily darker. Remus could see where this was going to go – it had the unmistakeable shape of one of James and Sirius’ rare conflicts (they were brief, vicious and always involved significant collateral damage).

“So,” James said, stretching back with a yawn. “Reckon we’ve killed that joke, then. How about old Dumbledore being a bender?”

“Gay,” Sirius said coolly, and Peter sidled away, eyes wide and panicky. “The word is gay.”

“It’s just a word,” James said, with the blithe arrogance of someone who still believed he was immune to the wrath of Sirius Black (a belief which, sadly, had not yet been seriously challenged).

Sirius stood up fast, his chair hitting the stone floor with a crash like a small explosion. “It’s not just a fucking word,” he snapped, leaning forward. “And you lied to me, you shit-smeared son of a-”

“Padfoot,” James protested, finally seeming to get it. “Calm down. I haven’t lied to you, okay.”

“You said it wouldn’t change anything! You said you didn’t give a shit!”

“I don’t,” James said, sounding baffled. “I just think it’s funny that Dumbledore’s a poofter. I’m not saying anything about you.”

“Yes, you fucking are!” Sirius roared and Remus’ brain finally caught up.

“Wait, you _knew_?” he demanded, on his feet before he thought about it. “You knew and _I didn’t?_ ”

“Don’t get involved, Moony,” James said irritably. “I didn’t say a thing about you, Pads.”

“Then what’s all this been?” Sirius demanded, making a quick, slashing gesture with his hand. “All this shite you’ve been spouting for the last hour? What, does being okay with it only work when you don’t have to think about it? Is it only okay if I’m sodding well celibate?”

“You don’t have to be celibate,” James said soberly, and Remus, who had just realised that he was in the middle of this fight anyway, winced. James’ voice fell as he continued, as sincere as only James Potter at full conviction could be, “But this isn’t right, Pads.”

“What, so you’d be happy to see me whoring around the clubs? You want me to have a different cock up my arse every night, do you, Prongs? You want me to be a filthy slut for you?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Remus saw Lily clap her hands over her ears, and Peter seemed to be quivering on the edge between rat and man. He ignored them, focussed desperately on just following this argument.

“Don’t be foul, Sirius,” James said wearily. “You know that’s not what I meant. You also know better than to fuck with a friend.”

Oh, _what_? Who did Prongs think he was?

“What the hell gives you the right to make that decision?” Sirius roared.

He needed to stand by Sirius now, he knew, because that was the only honourable thing to do. But James was reacting like this to _Sirius_ and the others still didn’t really know what was happening and the thought of exposing himself like this was as horrifying to him as he thought it must be easy for these two.

“ _I’m_ not thinking with my dick,” James said impatiently. “If you stopped for a moment, you’d realise that it’s bound to go wrong and-”

“Go to hell, Prongs,” Remus said, the words bursting out of him before he had a chance to think and, huh, maybe he _was_ a Gryffindor, after all.

But Sirius was bellowing over the top of him, and Remus didn’t think he heard anything above the stream of profanity heading James’ way.

“Look, sorry,” James said, holding up his hands. “Obviously I handled it badly, but you need to calm down. It’s late, you’re tired-”

Sirius went for him over the tabletop, hurling his whole body through the air.

Peter squeaked and grabbed James’ arm, pulling him right over and kicking him under the table so Sirius hit the floor instead, rolling back to his feet with a snarl.

For a moment, he stood there, so still that Remus started shaking for him. Then he said, voice razor-sharp, “No one tells me how to live my life. No one.”

And with that he was gone, slamming out of the kitchen into the dark halls beyond.

“That didn’t go according to plan,” James said from under the table.

Peter turned to help him up, but Remus pushed past him, lunged down to drag James to his feet. He let the bone-deep, relentless _rage_ of the wolf rise through him, though the moon was waning, and shoved close enough that he could see every speck in James’ eyes.

“Don’t ever do that again,” he snarled and watched James’ eyes go wide.

“But I was protecting _you_ ,” he said indignantly.

“Piss off, Prongs.”

“Moony, look-“

But Remus had taken off after Sirius, and wasn’t listening anymore.


	19. Chapter 19

Remus turned into entrance hall in time to see Sirius ahead of him, halfway up the stairs. The moonlight was shining in through the windows above the great doors, giving him just enough light to speed up, racing across the wide expanse of the hall towards the stairs.

The portraits were whispering around him, voices soft and sinister.

Ahead of him, Sirius stumbled on the stairs, catching himself with one hand.

“Sirius!” Remus called, and his voice fell flat in the still air.

Sirius turned to look at him, but Remus could barely see him anymore. The moonlight had gone dim and the shadows were lengthening, stretching out to carpet the stone floor.

Darkness came out of the paintings, flowing from every frame.

“ _Sirius!_ ” Remus yelled, but could hardly hear it. The darkness was rising around him like a flood, ice-cold against his skin. He stumbled under the weight of it, looking up in time to see it roll over Sirius.

Then he was surrounded, and so cold it hurt to move. Blinded, he dragged himself forwards, closer to where he had last seen Sirius. There was frost crackling against his fingertips, but he ignored it to yell, over and over, “Sirius! Sirius!”

Then, as suddenly as it came, the darkness began to fade, the air warming back to the heavy press of summer.

And Sirius was gone.

Remus scrambled to his feet, stumbling forwards in shock.

Sirius was gone.

“Young Lupin!” a voice hissed and he turned dumbly to see St Rocco beckoning at him from the corner of a painting. “If you want to follow him, you must hurry.”

“Where?” Remus breathed.

Rocco pointed across the hall. “Into the shadow, before it fades. The spell is _pinxoportus_.”

Remus ran, hurling himself across the floor ahead of the line of moonlight. There was still a shadow left on the stairs, black as ink, and he threw himself at it, hand clenched around his wand as he shouted the spell Rocco had given him.

Then the castle vanished and he was rolling over dry grass, the sun blazing down on him.

Steady hands caught him and sat him up, and there was a dog bouncing by his feet, familiar and eager, yet never actually real before.

“Catch your breath, boy,” Rocco said, his voice warm and close.

“What?” Remus said, sitting up. “Where am I? Sirius!”

“Long gone, the foul miscreants,” Rocco said, shaking his head.

“What foul miscreants?” Remus demanded, rubbing his eyes in the hope he might see sense afterwards. He appeared to be sitting on a hillside above a white-roofed city which spread lazily along the banks of a shining river. The light was washing everything golden, and everything smelt of flowers and, very faintly, paint. “Rocco, where am I?”

“Padua,” Rocco said with a careless wave. “Oh, not your Padua, of course. Padua as it is painted.”

“I’m inside a painting?” Remus asked, instinctively looking at the sky. “Why can’t I see out? And _where’s Sirius?_ ”

“Generations of Blacks have been painted,” Rocco said. “Their paintings hang in every magical institution in Britain and they, even more than their living kin, are bound by the sympathy of blood. They were the ones who came to Hogwarts and they are the ones who have taken young Sirius away.”

“Oh, god,” Remus said, holding on to the ground for balance. He wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disturbed that the earth felt properly soil-like and crumbly rather like canvas.

“Now,” Rocco continued cheerfully. “If you intend to rescue him, you must hurry. The Blacks own a painting on a castle upon a rock. The painting is one of a kind. However, the land that surrounds it can be reached through the principles of sympathy.”

“Wait, what?” Remus said.

Rocco passed him a canvas sack. “For your quest. Ah, of course – you know, don’t you, that it possible to pass from painting to painting, providing they have some common feature, whether that be that they are hung in close proximity or that they show the same subject. From this Padua, you may pass to any painted Padua. From the banks of this river to the banks of any painted river. You need only find the common ground.”

“You want me to find the castle?” Remus asked, confused. “But-”

“The castle itself is one of a kind, and can only be accessed from the walls of the House of Black. However, it is surrounded by a desert. Find yourself another desert and walk across it until you find the castle.”

“Walk across the desert,” Remus repeated, looking in the bag. “Uh, what’s this?”

“Bread and water to sustain you on your way,” Rocco said, pressing a kind hand to his shoulder. “Aloe salve lest the sun should burn you, and bandages should your feet bleed. Go well, young pilgrim.”

“But I don’t know which way to go,” Remus complained, pulling himself to his feet.

“Who else could find him?” Rocco asked kindly. “Trust your instincts. Oh, and be careful. Wizardry is power here, but do not destroy the ground you need to walk upon.”

“I’ll be careful,” Remus promised, still bewildered. Then he shook himself, swung his bag of supplies over his shoulder and started off down the hillside, the midday sun blazing above him.


	20. Chapter 20

For the first hour or so, the walk was pleasant, an endless path alongside a sunlit river, with no turnings. Now and then, Remus caught glimpses of cities and villages through the trees, sometimes a ruinous temple, once a statue of a great giant, his head fallen and broken besides his feet. There were no turnings from the path and he was thankful, because it let him panic.

Sirius was gone, stolen into this unreal world by his family’s machinations. He had to find him, but he didn’t know how or where to look. He didn’t even know how he was going to get out of these paintings even if he did find Sirius, and Rocco was unlikely to be much help with that. He’d never even heard of anyone escaping out of a painting. What if they were stuck here for the rest of eternity, leaving James and Lily and Dumbledore to fight off Voldemort alone?

The path divided.

Remus stared at the two paths in the quiet wood. There seemed to be little difference between them. How was he supposed to know which one would lead him closer to the desert and to Sirius?

Then he thought of the moon and how the wolf always knew where the dog was, whether he surged ahead or tumbled at his side. Breathing deeply, Remus closed his eyes and gripped his wand, thinking, _Sirius_.

Then he took the left hand path.

For a while it wound through more woodland, the sound of the river fading in the distance, and he began to doubt himself once more. Then the wood ended abruptly, giving way to rocky moors. Remus worked his way between tumbled boulders, and implausibly bright clumps of heather, looking for a clear path.

“Hoots mon!” a voice said suddenly.

Remus turned slowly, saying, “I beg your pardon.”

A few metres away, a man in full Scottish regalia was standing on a rock, surveying the horizon. He shot Remus a irritable look from under his tam o’shanter. “I said, hoots mon.”

Remus crossed his arms. “I’ve lived in Scotland for the last six years and I’ve never heard anyone say that before. And what tartan is that?”

“Hark at the bloody expert,” the Scotsman snapped back in a thick Geordie accent. “If you don’t like it, you can just bugger off back to your own bloody painting.”

“I don’t have a painting.”

“Burned, was it? Probably by some bloody English bastard!” He shook his fist at the sky and suddenly roared, “Sassenachs!”

“Er, no,” Remus said. “I’m a wizard, actually. And I’ll just be going.”

“A wizard. What’s a wizard doing in here? Who brought you through?”

“St Rocco,” Remus explained. “I’m looking for someone. Can you tell me which way to walk for the desert?”

“Rocco? Rocco’s not bad. What do you want with the desert, wizard? Nothing there but sand and dark wizards.”

“My friend was kidnapped,” Remus said, feeling panic clench in his gut again. “I have to find him.”

The Scotsman climbed down from his rock. “Angus MacDonald. Any friend of Rocco’s is a friend of mine.”

“Remus Lupin,” he said, shaking the offered hand. “Er, you don’t sound like an Angus MacDonald.”

“Blame my bloody artist,” Angus growled, striding off down the path. “Bloody Londoner. Couldn’t even my damned tartan right. There’s not a clansman in all of paintdom who’ll give me the time of day, and even my painting’s in a damned attic somewhere out there. Confined to a packing crate for lacking historical authenticity. Sassenach bastard!” he roared again.

“I’m sorry,” Remus said, hurrying to keep up.

“And the damn weather never clears up here and I’m allergic to bloody gorse.”

“Why not travel, then?” Remus suggested. “Go and visit Rocco. I’m sure he’d be glad to see you. Or you could go to sea – being a pirate isn’t a bad life, you know.”

“A pirate?” Angus said thoughtfully. “A pirate, eh? Sun, sea and skulduggery! There’s a life.” He stopped dead. “To the sea, then!”

“Er,” Remus said. “I’d be really pleased if you showed me the way to the desert first.”

“Follow on! Are not all deserts merely beaches without shores? Our paths will not divide until we reach the sands.”

  


#

  
The desert, when they reached it, was white, with sands rising in high and sculpted dunes. The sun blazed down, already making Remus’ cheeks burn.

“Walk out there until you can no longer see any other land,” Angus advised him. “Then turn yourself three times widdershins and think hard on your friend. When the crag comes in sight, start walking. Whatever you do, never look back, or you’ll need to be finding a new desert to get back on your path.”

“Three times widdershins, think of Sirius, and don’t look back,” Remus repeated. “Thank you.”

“Why and thank you for the advice, wizard. I’ll tell Rocco I set you on your way.”

“Thank you,” Remus said again. “And, er, good luck with your piracy.”

Then as Angus waved cheerfully, he set out into the desert. The sand slipped and slid under his feet, burning hot through the thin soles of his sandals. There was a wind, sighing around the corner of the pale dunes. There was no shade, not even a friendly cactus or palm tree (Remus had learnt everything he knew about deserts from the cartoons of his childhood).

At last he could only see sand, whichever way he looked. Closing his eyes, he turned left three times, thinking, _I need to find Sirius._

When he opened his eyes, all he could see was the desert. There was no sign of any crag or castle.

Trying not to panic, he closed his eyes and tried again, thinking of Sirius as hard as he could: his pride and grace, the way he frowned over a challenge and then exploded into action when the problem was solved, the languid slouch he used to lie by the lake on sunny days, the patience Remus only saw on mornings after the moon, his hasty generosity and quicker temper, and, new and astonishing memories, the heat of his mouth against Remus’, the hunger that showed in his eyes every time their gazes met.

But when he opened his eyes there was still no castle.

For a moment, he just stood there, alone in an unreal desert, and imagined his life without Sirius, stretching out through long, grey years, passionless and quiet. Then, with panic blazing through him, he closed his eyes again and began to turn, feeling within himself with the terrible and absolute need he had for Sirius, the desperation for his touch and the need he had for more, for Sirius to be there when he woke in the morning and at his shoulder in battle, for not just bodies but lives entwined.

And, yearning, he turned three times and then looked across the desert.

On the distant horizon, a black crag rose above the white sand, a castle on its peak.


	21. Chapter 21

As he walked across the desert, baking sand beneath his feet and blazing sun above him, Remus considered Sirius.

In the Easter holidays, when Sirius had finally believed himself to be free of his family, James had summoned them all to his parents’ cottage to plan the ultimate piss-up.

They had ended up in the local market town, so drunk that the bouncer had been forced to lift Peter up and carry him out over his shoulder after the thing with the cocktail sticks, the screaming woman and the astonishingly flammable margaritas.

With Peter sprawled bonelessly over the side of the kerb and James wandering away aimlessly, singing _Disco Inferno_ under his breath, Remus was the first to notice when Sirius started to strip.

He was posed in the yellow glow of a streetlight, orange lights in his hair and his skin golden under the glare of the sodium (which made everyone else just look like a tangerine, but not Sirius, never Sirius). When he shrugged his jacket off, letting it slide to his feet, it was the movement that caught Remus’ eye.

Then, as Remus looked on, his breath catching and his heart suddenly fast, Sirius slowly began to unbutton his shirt, long fingers slow and steady, eyes soft and full of dreams as he gazed drunkenly at the sky.

Sirius’ shirt dropped to the ground, and Remus couldn’t stop looking, even though he was dimly aware that there were girls pointing and squealing on the other side of the square, and some blokes outside the pub were shouting good-natured profanities in their direction, and, yes, that was a policeman heading towards them.

Sirius undid his belt, sliding it from his waist with his lips pursed in concentration, and Remus managed to summon enough self-control to realise that they were all likely to get arrested very, very soon, and he couldn’t let anyone put Sirius in a cell, not now he was away from his family.

“Prongs!” he croaked.

James was still singing to himself, slumped up against a wall. He paused mid-chorus to say, “What ho, Moony?”

Okay, so James was very, very pissed, Peter was unconscious and Remus was currently transfixed by the sight of Sirius trying to work out how to get his flies open. Nonetheless, there were some words which any Marauder would respond to under any circumstances.

“James!” he managed. “Diversion!”

“Righto,” James said amicably and lurched away from the wall and into a neighbouring alley.

Sirius got his top button undone. His trousers slipped down just enough to reveal that he’d forgotten that Muggles wore underwear under jeans.

An enormous stag came crashing out of the alleyway and went careening drunkenly across the square. It scooped up Sirius’ shirt onto its antlers on the way past, and then dodged the policeman to circle right, bellowing happily.

Remus grabbed Sirius by the wrist and dragged him away.

Sirius went meekly, too pissed to steer himself. His eyes were bright, though, and he was grinning. Remus pulled him into the multi-storey car park and sat him on the wall, hopefully well out of view of the public.

“Moony,” Sirius murmured, the name long and liquid. “I love you.”

“Yes, yes,” Remus said, ignoring the sudden heat in his chest. “Sit down and stay there, Padfoot.”

“No, really, I love you.”

“Of course you do,” Remus said, patting him on his bare, beautiful shoulder. “Just like you loved James, Peter, the girl in the yellow dress, the post box and the lamppost.”

“But I _love_ you,” Sirius persisted.

“In that case, you can do me and favour and _stay here_. I need to check whether Peter’s still alive.” Then, because it was only April, he shrugged off his own battered old anorak and wrapped it around Sirius’ shoulders. “Put that on.”

“I love you best,” Sirius said, with same blazing sincerity he used when assuring Professor McGonagall that of course he knew nothing about how the Slytherin common room ended up painted pink, really, professor. “I love you even more than the post box.”

“Thank you,” Remus said, because there was nothing else to say to that. “Now stay.”

Peter, when he got back to the square, had regained consciousness and was emptying his stomach into the gutter. Remus went and held his head. By the clatter of hooves and shrill of police whistles, Prongs had taken to the side streets.

Peter gave a last retch and muttered, “Where’s t’others?”

“James is a stag and Sirius is naked. Mostly.”

Peter groaned and stumbled to his feet. “Back to work then. Split up, and I don’t want the naked one.”

 _I do_ , Remus thought, and then started to panic.

Peter hit him in the ribs. “Don’t you pass out now. Meet us in the Potter’s orchard in half an hour, right?”

“We’re not giving up already,” Remus said, startled. The night was young and they’d had plans.

“The Potters’ orchard _where we left the cider_ ,” Peter elaborated. “Now, go.”

Remus tottered back to the carpark, mind whirling. He’d been Sirius’ friend for years and he loved him, of course, just like he loved all three of them because you couldn’t not love people who blithely broke laws to make you happier. But he’d never been attracted to Sirius, before, though he was aware that Sirius was gorgeous in the same way you might know that your brother or sister was good-looking without it ever bothering you.

Now, suddenly, he wanted Sirius, and he hoped that this was just the booze, he really did, because he’d seen the heartbroken wrecks Sirius left in his heedless wake and never wanted to be one of them.

Sirius wasn’t where he’d left him.

Remus spent a moment panicking before he remembered that he was a wizard and dug his wand out. The spark of his finding spell bounced in the air and then shot off towards the stairs at the side of the car park. Remus followed it with a sigh. Of course, alcohol and high places went hand-in-hand.

He found Sirius at the top of the car park, leaning dangerously over the wall to stare down at the town below. His trousers were slipping down his hips, exposing half his arse as he bent over.

“That’s it, Prongs,” he was slurring. “Dodge right!”

Remus came up behind him and looked down. From here, he could see the streetlights glowing like golden beads. The number of policemen seemed to have multiplied and most of the pub gardens were now full of gawping crowds. There were six stags charging around the streets, and Remus could hear the shouting from here.

“Pete’s good with an illusion,” Sirius, leaning on him. His face was flushed with glee, and he was taking such joy in the sheer and absolute chaos unfolding below them that Remus would have forgiven him anything. “Oh, look, policeman really do run in single file.”

“The things we do for you,” Remus said, slinging an arm around him (to keep him upright, he insisted to himself, nothing else).

Sirius hummed happily and said, “You know what would make it even better, though?”

“What’s that?”

“Leprechauns,” he announced and reached for his wand.

Remus watched the green light arch out and explode into crowds of leprechauns, and breathed, “You’ll get us all arrested.”

“They have to catch us first,” Sirius told him, nodding seriously. “You’re worrying. You need to drink more.”

“Probably,” Remus agreed.

“There’s still pubs open,” Sirius suggested, but didn’t move, a warm, limp weight against Remus’ shoulder.

Remus didn’t fancy moving, but Sirius had a point about the drink, so he looked down on the town, surveying the pubs. There, a few streets to the right, was a man with an unopened can on the table in front of him, too busy staring at the galloping deer to watch his drink.

“ _Accio_ lager,” Remus said lazily, and the can lifted into the air. The man turned just in time to see his drink fly away, but by then it was gathering speed. A minute later, it thumped into Remus’ outstretched hand.

“I want one too,” Sirius said, eyeing Remus hopefully.

“You can share mine,” Remus said, and cracked the can open.

Of course, after that, the night got really crazy, and it wasn’t until noon the next day, when he woke up in the Potters’ orchard with a scarlet bra on his head, that he had time to think. It was then that he realised that, even sober, he was still in love with Sirius Black.

#

Now, walking across an unreal desert, he wondered what else he hadn’t seen for so long. He had been so terrified by the idea of loving Sirius, so determined to keep it secret, that he hadn’t even thought to see if Sirius was looking at him. And perhaps Sirius didn’t really love him more than a post box, but there was something there, something blazing up between them and he wanted it more than ever: not just Sirius, but both of them, together and inseparable.

With that as his goal, every burning step was worthwhile, and at last he came into the shadow of the castle. A long narrow path rose around the side of the crag, steep and open. Remus stopped for a drink of water, and then started up towards the castle on the crag.


	22. Chapter 22

The black castle was so quiet that Remus could hear his every footstep echo as he drew near the gate. Pale sand dusted the road, heaping against the side of the road. Only a scatter of footprints in the sand showed that someone had passed this way before him, and even those were slowly filling again, fading into white.

Scowling statues stood on either side of the gate, but there were no guards, and the portcullis was not only up, but seemed to be rusted into place. Still, there was nothing to be heard but the wind and Remus’ footsteps. Unnerved, he drew his wand and headed into the castle.

The courtyard was empty of all but dust. Ruined walls showed where once rooms had stood, but there was nothing left in them. Only the main keep still stood, its empty window dark eyes glaring down at him. There was a broad stairway up the front of the keep, and the footprints led that way, so Remus followed them, tense and ready.

The footsteps stopped at the archway at the top of the stairs. Remus squinted into the shadows beyond, but couldn’t see any movement. Murmuring a quick _lumos_ , he stepped forward.

It was a small, square room, with six paintings on the walls. One showed a rich bedchamber in medieval style, one a sunlit beach, a third a dark and rocky landscape under a full moon, a fourth a parlour decorated in cream and gold, with long gardens outside the window, a fifth grey and cloudy fields, with a single tree blurred by the threat of rain, and the last showed only a square block of stone, surrounded by shadowy monoliths and stained with something Remus didn’t want to consider too much.

There were no more doorways, and no windows.

Well, the bedchamber, the parlour and the beach looked too kindly, and the altar was too disturbing. Making a quick choice, Remus reached out and touched the cloudy landscape.

Before he could utter any spell, he was dragged into the painting.

He landed hard in a muddy field and started shivering at once. Compared to the heat of the castle in the desert, this was chilling, though it was only a typical British spring. He scrambled to his feet and looked around.

Behind him a large frame hung in the sky, showing him the castle in the desert. Good, so the way out was clear. He looked ahead, squinting through the low mist to see if there was anyone moving in here.

There was someone under the tree, sitting very still. Remus couldn’t make out more than the shadow of dark hair from here, but his heart clenched and he started forward along the edge of the field. The half-grown corn rustled and sighed beside him and his feet sank into the soft, wet earth at the field’s edge, the mud oozing between his toes and making his feet slide inside his sandals.

Closer, he could see the familiar fall of glossy dark hair, and the slope of shoulders under, bizarrely, green velvet robes. A little closer still and he saw the chains binding slim wrists to the tree.

“Sirius?” he said, keeping his voice low.

The prisoner leapt up in a jangle of chain and whirled to face him, and Remus saw it wasn’t Sirius at all.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Lupin?” Regulus Black demanded.


	23. Chapter 23

“Regulus?” Remus said blankly. “But- I – what?”

“Spit it out, Lupin,” Regulus snapped, crossing his arms with a crash of chains.

“I was looking for Sirius,” Remus said uncertainly. Regulus Black had always hated him, for reasons Remus couldn’t quite guess at, but he couldn’t just stand here and look at this. “Stand still and I’ll get you out of there.”

“No!” Regulus snarled, stepping back. “Don’t you dare!”

Remus stopped and backed away, moving as slowly as he would around Sirius in one of his more fragile moods. Very calmly, he pointed out, “You’re chained to a tree.”

“Only until the start of term,” Regulus said, lifting his chin. He looked exhausted, his skin sallow and shadows under his eyes. His cheeks were too hollow and his lips were red and chapped, as if he’d chewed them bloody.

“That’s two weeks away,” Remus said, feeling sick. What the hell was going on here? “For god’s sake, Regulus, let me get you out of there.”

“If you do,” Regulus said, voice low and shaking, “my family will have two treacherous sons.”

Remus thought of Sirius burning, and looked again at the stark, young face of the boy in front of him. “They don’t deserve your loyalty.”

“They’re my _family_.”

“Does that really matter? They’ve chained you to a tree!”

Regulus drew himself up, all haughtiness. “You couldn’t possibly understand, Lupin.”

“Try me,” Remus snapped, crossing his arms.

He got a sneer in return and then, in a painfully casual tone, “You were looking for my idiot brother?”

“He was kidnapped,” Remus said. “Into a painting. I was sent here to look for him.”

Regulus’ eyes closed, his lips thinning. Then, so softly Remus almost didn’t hear him, he breathed, “He got away, then.”

“Yes,” Remus replied, just as quiet, in case someone was listening. “Away, and only mildly burnt.”

Regulus shivered, a sudden spasm of his whole body.

Remus kept watching him, the cold touch of the mist clinging to his bare arms. “Then we came to Hogwarts, and there was something wrong with the paintings. They took Sirius.”

“The paintings!” Regulus said, head coming up. “But-”

“But what?” Remus demanded.

Regulus set his lips and looked away.

“Why are you being loyal to people who’ve chained you up inside a painting?” He really, really loathed Regulus Black, always had. How someone who looked like Sirius could be such a vile little snot was beyond him.

“A painting,” Regulus said now, all prim and prissy, “that is the property of my cousin Bellatrix. You are trespassing, Lupin. You may show yourself out.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Remus snapped, rolling his eyes and sat down on the damp ground. “I am not leaving Sirius here and I’m not going to leave you chained to a tree for the rest of the holidays. That’s sick.”

Regulus scowled at him and said, very loftily, “You are an extremely stupid Gryffindor.”

“Well, you’re an extremely annoying Slytherin,” Remus said cheerfully. “What did you do to get chained up anyway?”

“I’m simply proving my loyalty,” Regulus said, lowering himself to sit down as well, back very stiff.

“I wouldn’t think you’d need to.”

“Bella has good reason to doubt me.”

“Oh?” Remus asked, keeping his tone mild.

After a long moment, Regulus said, “It was my job to bring him food. That was all.”

“Why did he need bringing food?” Remus asked sharply. “This is Sirius we’re talking about, right?”

Regulus darted him a quick, shocked look. “He didn’t tell you?”

“He didn’t feel like talking about it even before your bitch of a mother set him on fire.” Aware that his voice was rising, Remus took a deep breath, ignoring the stricken expression on Regulus’ face, and continued, “He mentioned that they’d given him dreams. Nothing else.”

Regulus looked down, stroking patterns into the velvet which draped over his knees. A drip fell from the tree above them to hang in his dark hair. He didn’t look like Sirius now – even in defeat, Sirius never looked this bowed; always blazed with indignation.

Then, not looking up, he whispered, “They kept him in the cellar. It’s dark down there and- and it was his _birthday_. He said he only wanted his wand to make a light.”

“And you believed him?” Remus said incredulously.

Regulus fussed with his hem, shoulders stiff. “I didn’t _disbelieve_ him.”

“Oh, you brave prat,” Remus said, caught between pity and admiration.

“Fuck off, Lupin.”

“Let me get you out of here. You can come back with me. Dumbledore will protect you.”

“I don’t need protecting.”

“Bellatrix has chained you to a tree,” Remus reminded him, because it bore repeating.

“And?” Regulus bit off.

“And why does she even have the right to do that? Aren’t your parents in charge of the family?”

“They are. And, as such, they have delegated management of the current political situation to Bella.”

“Well, that’s one way of keeping their hands clean,” Remus said, anger tight in his gut.

“You have no right to talk about my parents like that!”

“Given what they did to Sirius, I think I can say what I damn well like.”

“What do you care?”

“Just because you lot don’t want him-“ Remus started and stopped when Regulus’ eyes went wide again, his expression suddenly speculative.

“Bella didn’t want to disinherit him,” he said, biting his lip. “She was furious. She wanted to, well, teach him where his true loyalties lie, she said. And, well, the thing with the paintings – she wasn’t meant to do that yet, but if she thought she could use it to…”

Remus nodded. “That’s interesting. Thank you.”

“I’m just thinking out loud,” Regulus said, looking down his nose. “And you are eavesdropping.”

“Sod off, Regulus,” Remus said, but didn’t really mean it.

“You’re the one with mobility, Lupin. Pray remove yourself.” Then, looking up into the tree, he added, very casually. “Bella likes locking people up in the dark.”

“Thank you,” said Remus again, standing up. “Are you sure you don’t want me to help you escape?”

“No, thank you,” Regulus said politely. “It would simply make matters worse.”

“When I get Sirius out of here, we’ll tell Dumbledore. He won’t tolerate this.”

Regulus gave him a cynical, crooked smile. “I understand there were plans underfoot to neutralise him.”

“Yeah,” replied Remus, “but all they managed to do was remove all his moral scruples.”

“Cool,” Regulus breathed and then looked mortified.

Remus was gracious enough to pretend he hadn’t heard that. Instead, awkwardly, he said, “Take care. And if you do need to run-“

“Piss off, Lupin.”

“I’m going,” Remus said, turning away.

Behind him, Regulus said, “Be careful. Bella – she told me not to go wandering, even if I could get away. And she looked scared.”

“Fantastic,” Remus muttered, and headed back towards the portrait hole. As he reached the frame, he looked back towards the tree. Regulus Black lifted one chained hand in salute, and then turned away.

Feeling guilty despite everything Regulus had said, Remus climbed out of the painting. The castle still sounded empty, so he walked across to the picture opposite, the one with the full moon and the night landscape. He studied it uneasily. The fields in Regulus’ painting had felt real. What would happen if he stepped into a painting where the moon was full? Would he transform?

 _It’s not a real moon,_ , he told himself. _Just paint and canvas and a little magic. It’s no more a moon than a – than a radish. It doesn’t cast real light, and it’s not a moon._

Then he reached out and touched the starry, painted sky, chanting, “Not a moon, not a moon,” as the magic pulled him in.


	24. Chapter 24

He came out of the other side of the painting into a moonlit night, the wind cool and sweet against his cheeks. For a moment, he gazed in wonder at the landscape under the pale light of the full moon, astonished at how bright it was, how clearly he could see.

Then the full touch of the moonlight hit him and he convulsed, feeling the wolf rise in delight, lunging at the chance to rip free so soon after the last moon.

 _Paint and canvas_ , Remus thought desperately. _Radishes. There is no moon in the sky. It’s not_ real!

The wolf fought him, but without true moonlight it didn’t quite have the power to change him. He pushed it back enough to stay human, but its anger seared through him, making his skin sting and his toes clench and his mind roil with dark anger. He wanted to _hurt_ something, to tear and rip and kill.

The night air tasted bitter against his tongue, and he could scent Sirius, the hum of blood and magic and hound carried to him on the night breeze. Here and now, there was nothing the night could conceal from him, and he stepped forward across the moonlit moors, every step steady and sure, despite the shadows that darkened the wet ground.

Above him, green lights slowly washed across the sky, shells and echoes and ghosts. Remus looked on them, his breath misting on the cold air, and thought of other green lights in other skies, of death and hatred and grief. Again, the rage rose in him; again, he fought it back, but he was hungry now, and had no patience for a slow hunt.

At a run, he crossed the moor towards the place where Sirius was waiting.

He heard Sirius before he saw him, curses and rage swirling on the air so thick he could almost taste them, as bitter as blood. The frustration in Sirius’ voice as it roared out through the night was like a horn calling him onwards and he began to wet his lips, tense with anticipation.

When he came over the ridge, he saw Sirius staked out before him, his feet and wrists bound to low posts as he twisted and struggled to break free.

Remus growled.

Sirius stilled, looking up at him. “Moony? That you? Thank Merlin, and will you please get me out of here before those arseholes-”

Remus stalked forwards, fingers curling into clenched fists.

“-get back! Wait, are you okay? Remus? _Remus?_ Oh, buggering fuck, the moon!”

Remus dropped to his knees between Sirius’ legs, studying him as Sirius went quiet, his eyes widening. Then, very slowly he crawled forwards over Sirius, lowering his face towards Sirius’ bare neck, breathing in the smell of sweat and musk and wet earth. Sirius gasped, his body jerking.

“Okay. Okay, it’s not that this isn’t almost as hot as it is terrifying, but it would be really good if you were to get me out of here!”

Remus growled at him and lifted his head, glaring him into silence. Then he slid back down Sirius’ body and pushed his t-shirt up to expose his bare, taut belly and the smattering of dark curls on his chest. Slowly, his eyes locked on Sirius’ face, he licked his way up Sirius’ chest, feeling warm, soft skin quiver beneath his tongue, fine hairs catch on his lips. Then he closed his mouth over Sirius’ nipple, rubbing his tongue over the rough nub, seeking out the salt of his sweat.

“Oh, fuck,” Sirius said, with a whimper. “Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck. Moony, my hands!”

Remus reached out without looking and dragged one post from the ground, feeling the now slack rope slip free over his wrist.

“Right,” Sirius said, breathing harshly. “Preternatural strength is not good – oh, fuck, _yes_ , that’s perfect – and the glowing eyes are bad too – don’t _stop_!”

Remus slid his mouth over to the other nipple and Sirius moaned, his hand sliding down to squeeze Remus’ shoulder.

“Okay, that was a _good_ reason to stop. Oh, god, so preverbal, obviously, which is – oh, yes - bad. I don’t suppose there’s any way you could tell me – oh – whether you plan on eating me or fucking me? Because the latter would be really, really good, obviously, despite everything I said about –oh, please, there - wanting a bed this time, and the latter would be really, really bad and a terrible – please - waste of my natural talent and beauty!”

Remus lifted his head away far enough to support himself on his arms and drive his hips down against Sirius’, thrusting against the hardness he could feel straining there, grinding down. Sirius arched against him, moaning without words, and Remus snarled and shoved him down, sliding down to mouth at Sirius’ erection through his shorts. Even with the thick cloth in the way, it was firm and hot under his lips and he mumbled happily and set his teeth into Sirius’ waistband, trying to drag it down.

Sirius’ voice was shaking as he said, “Get my other hand out and I could help you take those off.”

Remus surged up to rip the other post from the ground and then dropped back down, clawing at Sirius’ thigh.

But Sirius did not reach down to help him. Instead, he said, voice strained, “Please realise that this really, really hurts me too, but I don’t want you to hate me when the moon goes down, so, yeah.”

Remus lifted his head to look at him, puzzled, and Sirius hit him hard enough to send him sprawling backwards.

Before Remus could lunge back at him, he took a deep, shuddering breath, turned into Padfoot and ran.


	25. Chapter 25

Remus gave chase, staggering up the slope after the black dog, so frustrated he wanted to scream and howl to the blazing moon-

But he was human, he remembered suddenly, and fought the wolf down.

On the crest of the next hill, Padfoot hesitated, glancing back at him with his head quirked. Remus gave a wild, rather whooping laugh, and ran after him. This – this he knew – this was running with the dog under the moon, and it calmed him.

It was a long run, under the green and black sky, and he was slower as a man than he was as a wolf, but that was good, for every stumble and gasp for breath made him remember his humanity a little more.

At last the dog paused by an outcropping, waiting with tensed legs and fierce eyes.

Remus slowed to a walk, approaching with his hands held out to his side, gulping down lungfuls of air. He could still smell the dog on the breeze, was still shivering with the cool brush of moonlight on his skin, but he could think now, just.

“I won’t eat you,” he managed.

Sirius shimmered back into his true form, and Remus moved before he could think about it, shoving him against the rock and kissing him, teeth and tongue and nails clawing into Sirius’ bare arms.

“Fuck!” Sirius gasped, dragging his mouth away. “Remus, I swear to you that when this is over, I will let you fuck me until I scream, but right now, I need you to be capable of speech and thinking and – and non-crazy stuff!”

“I can think,” Remus said into his neck, trying to press as much of himself as he could against Sirius’ body.

“That’s an advance. Moony, we need to get out of here.”

“Let’s go, then.” Sirius’ ear was right there, so he mouthed it, sucking the lobe gently until Sirius choked.

“Yeah, but there’s still the twenty guys who caught me and they’ve got my wand.”

“Right,” Remus said, and started tracing circles on Sirius’ belly to help him think.

“Y’know,” Sirius said, leaning into his touch, “even when you’re drunk, you’re not this grabby.”

“There’s a reason I haven’t let myself drink much for a couple of years,” Remus told him absently.

“Oh,” Sirius said wonderingly, and kissed him. It was a slow, wet kiss, full of intent promises, and Remus moaned into it, all his hunger rising again until he was rutting against Sirius’ hip, his hands pressed up under his shirt.

Sirius pulled away slowly, blinking as Remus growled at him, and said, “Okay. Okay, you have crazy eyes again, so I’m going to, uh, be Padfoot now. Sorry.”

Remus retained enough self-control not to try stopping him, but he glowered at the dog when it appeared at his feet. Padfoot dropped his head onto his paws, tail between his legs.

“I don’t feel sorry for you,” Remus snapped at him.

Padfoot thumped his tail against the ground apologetically and then ran away towards the next ridge. Remus followed at a slow run, clutching his wand and seething.

At last, Padfoot led him to a hilltop and stopped, crouching low to the ground. Remus dropped down beside him, looking down at the valley. A group of men were gathered there, around a small campfire. All had dark hair and high cheekbones, and they were moving strangely, as if drugged or stunned, their eyes dull.

“Is that them?” Remus asked and Padfoot nodded.

“Do you know which one has your wand?”

Another nod.

“You go for him and I’ll stun the rest. On three. One, two-”

Padfoot hurtled down the hillside with a torrent of barking. Remus launched himself after him, wand high as he yelled, “ _Stupefy!_ ”

He took down four of them before they started to respond, and by then Padfoot had crashed into their midst.

It was a good fight, especially as he’d been yearning for a chance to wreak his wrath on someone for hours. Then, from the corner of his eye, he saw a bearded wizard kick Padfoot in the side, hard enough to send him flying away with a howl of pain.

Remus lost his temper.

Swinging round, he levelled his wand and snarled, “ _Incendio!_ ”

He put more force in it than necessary, but he hadn’t really meant for it to do more than set the man’s beard alight. Instead flames roared up along the path of his spell, spreading through the night as fast as wind.

Sirius rolled to his feet, human again, wand in his hand, and shouted, eyes wild and afraid, “We’re inside a portrait! Run!”

And as the world blazed up around them, they did.


	26. Chapter 26

The portrait frame was a bright shape in the sky ahead of them, and the flames were licking at their heels, making the skin on his calves sting.

He couldn’t hear any screaming from the Black portraits anymore, but the flames were roaring like a storm, and the green lights in the sky had turned to scarlet and gold. Even the stars were burning up, and he could feel the moon dying like a wave crashing onto the shore, bringing sanity and terror in its wake.

Even the picture frame in the sky was wreathed in fire as they plunged towards it, and he flinched from one set of flames only to feel others press towards him. Sirius grabbed his wrist and threw them both through the ring of fire.

They came crashing to the cool floor on the other side, the sound of the flames suddenly muted under the low moan of the wind.

Remus felt the cold stone under his cheek, cool seeping through him from its touch, and suddenly thought about all the things he’d just done in the last hour.

He was shaking as he sat up to stare at the portrait. Where once a painted moon had shone, he saw only the picture of an inferno, heatless and quiet. As he watched, the canvas crumbled into ash and the frame began to smoulder.

“They all burnt,” he said.

“They deserved it,” Sirius said coolly, rolling to his feet and holding out a hand. Remus looked up at him, saw the same proud lines on his face as on the ones he’d burned, and dropped his face back against his knees.

“They were people,” he said, thinking of Rocco and Angus MacDonald and the Fat Lady.

Sirius sighed, quick and impatient. “If their frames still exist they can be restored. They were bastards in life, and worse when painted that way. Get a move on, Remus. We’re still in danger.”

“Sod off,” Remus muttered. He felt sick.

He wasn’t expecting to be dragged to his feet so hard he thought his arm might come out of his socket.

“Save it,” Sirius snapped, his face so close that his mood felt like something crackling against Remus’ skin. “How did you get in? The only way out is through Bella’s morning room.”

“Across the desert,” Remus said, shaking. He got why Sirius was angry, really he did. He had been a prisoner, helpless, and the only person he trusted to rescue him had – oh, _god_ , this would have been unforgivable even for someone who didn’t cling to grudges like they were a form of sustenance. “Rocco helped. Sirius, I-”

“Save it,” Sirius said. “Let’s go. _Before_ someone comes looking, Moony.”

“Okay,” Remus said, heart sinking. He turned towards the exit and recoiled. “Oh, damn.”

The roaring wind from outside was not just a gale. The air was full of whirling sand, as thick as fog. It rasped at the stone walls of the castle and even one step towards the exit was enough to have him jumping back as sand razed his cheeks.

“Security measure, I imagine,” Sirius said. “This way.”

“That’s the only exit,” Remus said, rolling his wand in his hand. He was tired, and he wasn’t sure that he could keep a shield charm up all the way across the desert, but they had to get away.

Sirius shot him an incredulous look. “I first came here when I was ten, Remus. Trust me.” Then he pressed one hand against a bare bit of wall between two picture frames and recited a long, rolling phrase in Latin.

The blocks in the wall heaved themselves apart reluctantly to reveal a long, dark corridor. Sirius stepped through the gap, Remus close behind, and it groaned as it closed behind them.

“ _Lumos_ ,” Sirius murmured. “This way.”

He led Remus to the far end of the corridor, where even the fine sand on the floor seemed fragile and ancient. There was a staircase there, dust thick on the stairs, and Sirius ducked up it, humming slightly.

“Do you know where you’re going?” Remus asked diffidently. It didn’t look like anyone had walked this way for years.

“Yeah,” Sirius said from around the curve of the stair. “You’ll like this.”

Remus followed him miserably. Sirius’ idea of fun was not always his and right now Sirius must be utterly furious with him. It was probably a very bad idea to be following him into the depths of a dangerous castle owned by an ancient family of dark wizards.

“Here we are,” Sirius announced and there was the creak of a door and a flood of dim light.

Remus hurried up to join him.

It was a large room with a curved outer wall hung with faded tapestries. A fireplace jutted out on one side and there was a huge four-poster bed heaped with pillows and green blankets. On the other side of the fireplace there was a long, narrow window, with sand already spilling off the sill.

Sirius was sitting on the edge of the bed, bouncing up and down with a wide grin on his face. “Do you how long it’s been since I had a decent night’s sleep?” he demanded. “There’s a fucking mattress here! I love mattresses!”

“What if they come looking for us?” Remus asked, hesitating on the threshold.

“They won’t. And, look, we can barricade the door. Come on, Moony. I need sleep! Sleeeeeeep!”

Remus stepped inside and Sirius bounced to his feet to slam the door behind him. He grabbed Remus by the hips and moved him bodily away from the door before turning the key that sat in the lock with a sharp click and grabbing the end of a nearby dresser.

Still waiting for the other shoe to drop, Remus went round to push at the other end of the dresser, staring down at its dusty top as they moved it, not wanting to meet Sirius’ eye.

“Right!” Sirius said, once the dresser was in place. “Let’s get a fire lit!”

“No!” Remus snapped.

“I won’t be using a wand,” Sirius said, punching his shoulder on the way past. “Unlike a certain daft twat who shall remain unnamed. Close the shutters, will you? Let’s not announce to the world that we’re here.”

Remus stumbled over to the window, staring out into the sandstorm. He could just see shadows below which hinted at other walls and towers, but nothing was clear enough to form a landmark. Slowly, he drew the shutters together and bolted them, swaying forwards to rest his forehead against the painted wood.

Behind him, Sirius was muttering cheerfully to himself as he laid wood in the fireplace. Remus closed his eyes and tried to blank his mind, tried not to remember how much he had wanted when Sirius lay bound at his mercy.

“You coming to bed?” Sirius said, not far behind him.

“I’ll sleep on the hearth,” Remus said. “You – you don’t want me near you.”

“Remus,” Sirius said, long-suffering and indulgent, as if he was fussing about copied homework or something equally petty.

“I nearly ate you.”

“Seemed more like you were about to fuck me.”

“You were tied up. There was nothing you could have done to stop me.”

“I’m not that helpless,” Sirius said, laughing, damn him. A warm hand pressed against Remus’ back, rubbing gently. “Nothing happened that I didn’t want.”

“I wouldn’t have stopped,” Remus said, shaking. “I couldn’t have-”

“Remus, nothing happened. It doesn’t matter.”

“I could have-”

“You didn’t. Stop thinking so hard.”

“Sirius!”

Warm arms wrapped around his waist and Sirius rubbed a stubbly cheek against the back of his neck. “It was the moon, not you. And it was really, really sexy.”

“I tried to rip your clothes off with my teeth!”

“Yeah,” Sirius breathed, with a little, reverent sigh.

It took a moment, but then Remus snapped, “You’re such a bloody pervert, you.”

“Will you still say that when you’ve fucked me?” Sirius asked, laughing against his shoulder.

Remus shuddered. “Aren’t you angry?”

“Mate, I wouldn’t give a shit if you turned into a girl every full moon and danced the can-can on high table.” He’d said the same thing years ago, when they first found out, and Remus finally relaxed, leaning back against him.

“You should be angry.”

“I’m not a girl,” Sirius said scornfully. “Want me to prove it? I’d be more than happy.” His fingers crept just under Remus’ waistband, teasing. “So, even if you don’t want to shag, come to bed, because I’m bloody knackered and I want to lie down, have a nap and feel you up, not necessarily in that order.”

“Right,” Remus said, turning round quickly. He had his arms around Sirius and his face pressed against his shoulder before he registered exactly what he could feel under his hands. Surprised, he slid his hand down further, over the curve of Sirius’ arse.

“Mmm,” Sirius said, squirming closer.

“Padfoot,” Remus said, trying to keep his voice steady. “Are you naked?”

“Well, I wasn’t planning to sleep in my clothes,” Sirius said reasonably and took a step backwards towards the bed. “Take your clothes off and come and kiss me.”

By the time Remus had taken a steadying breath and started pulling his t-shirt up, Sirius was on the bed, sprawled out naked over the sheets. The fire was going well now, casting warm light across the room, making his skin glow and shadows pool in the hollow of his hip and the curve of his bent knee. He was smirking, his eyes half-lidded as he wet his lips.

Remus shrugged off the last of his clothes and went to him, crawling across the mattress to get closer. Sirius reached out and pulled him down, arms wrapping across Remus’ back as their mouths met and they kissed.

At first they were tangled awkwardly, knees and elbows at painful angles, lips skidding apart if they tried to push their bodies together. Then a shift and a squirm and they fit together, pressed so close that Remus could feel Sirius’ heart beating. Slowly, they kissed, tracing lips over lips, and he thought that maybe he should suggest something more, but he couldn’t bear to stop kissing Sirius, not for one second.

The troubles of the day faded, replaced by the warmth that ran through him, making him sink limply against Sirius, surrendering everything into the slow heat that spread from everywhere he was touching Sirius: the jut of hips, the hard line of another erection against his, the teasing tickle of hair against his nipples, the perfect softness of Sirius’ mouth. And despite all the sensations, each distinct and tempting, all he could do was think, _Sirius, Sirius_ and kiss him until there was nothing else that mattered in the world.


	27. Chapter 27

Remus awoke to quiet and a sense that something was terribly wrong. He sat up a little, shifting Sirius’ weight a little, and looked around.

There was nothing wrong with the room. The fire had burnt to low flickers but everything else was unchanged. The wind had stopped and thin beams of light sliced through the gaps in the shutters. Nonetheless, it felt as if the air itself was weighed down, like the pause before a storm or the gut-deep grief which could rise from a crowd gathered in remembrance.

“Sirius,” Remus whispered, shaking him gently. Sirius was draped across his side, hair falling over his face as he drooled into the crook of Remus’ neck.

He stirred, reached down to squeeze Remus’ thigh as he muttered something.

“Wake up,” Remus said, feeling a little spark of anger that he couldn’t enjoy this. “Something’s wrong.”

Sirius lifted his head, blinking. Then he tensed, arching off the bed. “What’s that?”

“I don’t know,” Remus said, relieved that it wasn’t just him. “Can’t be good.”

Sirius rolled off the bed and bent over to grab his clothes off the floor. Remus stared, because nothing short of the bed catching fire could have stopped him appreciating that view. Sirius wriggled back into yesterday’s clothes and then turned round just in time to catch him staring.

Remus blushed.

Sirius smirked. “See something you like, Moony?”

“You know I do,” Remus managed.

Sirius’ smirk widened. Then, in one quick motion, he scooped Remus’ clothes off the floor and threw them in his face. “Get dressed before I jump you.”

Once dressed, they both headed for the window. The sense of dread was thickening, and as they eased the shutters open, Remus shivered. The air was hot and heavy, and the silence seeped in like oil.

The sky above the castle blazed so blue and bright it stung. Below them, every surface was thick with white sand, crusted along the battlements and towertops and piled in the corners of the courtyard like drifts of snow.

A lone figure stood on the steps. He wore a hooded black cloak which pooled around his feet as if he was wrapped in shadows and even the sand feared him. Before him knelt Bellatrix Lestrange, her dark hair sweeping forward to brush the edge of his cloak. As they watched, she lifted her head, showing her teeth as she smiled.

“Shall I bring forth the prisoners?” she asked, her tongue darting out to curl along her lips.

The dark figure inclined its head, and she sprang to her feet, calling triumphantly, “Bring them out!”

Two men appeared out of the shadow of the gateway, moving with the blank grace Remus now associated with the painted Blacks. Each was shoving a prisoner in front of them, wands focussed on their bound wrists.

One of Lily’s plaits had come undone, spilling bright hair across one shoulder. Her lace blouse was torn, trailing threads down one arm, and her lip was bleeding. She was flushed with rage, still fighting against her captor.

James, on the other hand, was rigid with fury, stalking forwards with stiff dignity. His glasses were hanging off one ear, and one eye blackened. His lip was bleeding.

“Kneel!” Bellatrix hissed.

“Like fuck!” Lily snarled.

James simply lifted his chin and said, “No.”

Bellatrix whipped her wand towards them, hissing something Remus couldn’t hear. Lily went down with a choked off cry, her knees folding under her. James, beyond her, staggered but stayed up.

“Kneel, scumsucker,” Bellatrix snapped, “or I’ll cut her legs off!”

Only James, Remus thought sickly, could kneel as if it were a victory. Once down, he lifted his head and said, with arrogance with equalled anything Remus had ever seen from Sirius, “So, who is it who afraid to face us when we’re on our feet, even when we’re disarmed and outnumbered?”

Bellatrix let out a shrill snarl and lashed out, her fist slamming into the side of James’ head. He rocked but kept his head up.

“How dare you!” she hissed. “How dare you speak with such disrespect? You-”

“Bellatrix,” the cloaked man said, and there was something wrong with his voice, something a little too sibilant to be human. “What have you brought me?”

“Little rebels, my lord,” Bellatrix purred. “Little Gryffindors searching for the traitor. This one is a Muggleborn of no importance, but this is the last of the Potters. He has betrayed his own kind, lord. He must be punished.”

The man reached up and lowered his hood. From above, Remus could only see dark hair and unnaturally pale skin, but he also saw the colour drain from James’ face, and Lily’s sudden terror.

“Do you know my name, boy? Are you brave enough to say it?”

“Voldemort,” James said flatly. “You’re Voldemort.”

Bellatrix raised her wand. “ _Lord_ Voldemort.”

James gave a thin, cold smile. “I will _never_ call you Lord.”

Voldemort gave a soft, rustling laugh, and turned to look at Bellatrix. “Shall we have a wager, my Bella? Which do you think will scream the louder, the mudblood or the blood traitor?”

“The traitor,” Bellatrix said, giggling.

“We shall see,” Voldemort said and languidly pointed his wand at James and Lily. “ _Crucio!_ ”


	28. Chapter 28

Sirius lunged for the window, trying to reach to cast a spell down at the courtyard, but the walls were too thick. Remus, realising the problem before Sirius stopped trying, whirled round and blasted the dresser out of the way.

They hurtled through the castle side-by-side, Sirius bellowing the password at the wall just in time for it to open in front of them. White sand flew up around their pounding feet as they burst out into the courtyard to the sound of screaming.

Sirius roared, “ _Expelliarmus!_ ” and Remus swung the other way to shout, “ _Finite incantatem!_ ”

James’ roar of pain sank to a gasp, even as Sirius’ curse recoiled off Voldemort. The Dark Lord whirled around, his wand flicking down.

“ _Avada Kedavra!_ ”

Remus shoved Sirius out of the way as green light flashed towards them. They rolled down the steps as the spell hit the side of the castle above them, stones exploding out at its impact.

As they fell, Remus glimpsed Lily scrambling to her feet and throwing a weak punch at Bellatrix. It wouldn’t even have disarmed a current Slytherin, but Bellatrix had never needed to defend herself from fists, and Lily sent her reeling and then wrenched the wand from her hand with a scream.

Remus just had time to hear Lily yell, “ _Stupefy!_ ” before he hit the ground.

Sirius crashed into him, and a low voice above them hissed, “ _Petrificus totalus!_ ”

Remus felt his body jerk and stiffen, every muscle freezing and his mind jolting from moment to moment of searing panic. He barely heard the murmured spell that disarmed Lily again, but he felt sick when magic moved him, crawling slimily across his skin.

“Now the disobedient Black I shall keep,” Voldemort said, sounding bored. Magic tipped Remus over so that he was staring across the courtyard at a stunned Bellatrix, a defiant James and Lily still pushing back to her feet. “I shall just kill the spare.”

“No!” Lily screamed, surging to her feet. “No! Do you really think I need a wand to tear you apart?!” She took a staggering step forward, her ankle twisting beneath her. “You’re a monster! You’re not even a fucking wizard anymore – you’re not even human! You are filth, foul and stinking filth! Your shit poisons the ground it fall on! Your dick-”

They were probably only still alive, Remus thought, in dim jerks, because nobody had defied Voldemort like that in years.

“has fangs and a forked tongue! You-”

“ _Avada Kedavra_!” Voldemort hissed furiously.

James tackled Lily to the ground just in time. The spell hit the wall behind them and broke through it, sending chunks of castle crashing into the desert below.

As Voldemort readied his wand again, James stood up, putting himself between Lily and the Dark Lord. “Stop!” he yelled over the sound of breaking stone. “You want her dead, you have to kill me first!”

“Then I will kill you, and then her,” Voldemort said.

“You can’t!” James shouted back, fists clenched and head lifted in pure defiance. “I have purer blood than anyone else in this castle! If I die at your hands, you’re announcing to the world that it’s not about blood, it’s not about purity – it’s about power! Then it _will_ be war, and you don’t have the strength yet! If you were ready for war, it would have started at Easter! You don’t dare kill me, and while I live, I will protect her!”

For a moment, no one moved, and the only sound was the steadily increasing roar of collapsing stone. The ground below them was shaking, and Remus thought suddenly, _If a simple_ incendio _can destroy everything within a painting, what does the Killing Curse do?_

Voldemort lifted his wand, but whatever curse he was about to cast was swallowed up in the roar and thunder of the world tearing apart.


	29. Chapter 29

He was in the shade, with dry dust under his cheek. Just in front of him was the striped side of a tent, billowing a little in the wind. There was a faint sound of jangling music, like the tunes played by an icecream van.

“What happened?” Lily whispered, somewhere behind him. “Where did Voldemort go?”

“Don’t know,” James whispered back. “I’m going to check round the corner. You keep an eye on these two.”

“Don’t do anything stupid.” Then after a moment, she hissed, “Potter! _James!_ My wand is in my pocket.”

There was a moment of quiet. Then James said, “I’ve got mine, too. This is weird.”

“What hasn’t been lately?” Lily muttered, and he laughed softly. Remus heard his footsteps pad away, and really wished he could see what was going on.

Lily turned him over gently, and he found himself looking up at her worried face. She murmured, “ _Finite incantatem._ ”

He felt his muscles slowly begin to relax as she leant over him to relieve Sirius. Then she sat back.

“I’m not sure if you two can hear me,” she whispered, “but we seem to be safe. I’m sorry it took us so long to find you. The first painting we could get into was of a pirate ship – there was a bloke in a kilt who told us where you’d gone. We left Peter guarding Dumbledore and his crazy boyfriend. That’s about it, really.”

Remus managed to wriggle his toes, still staring past her shoulder. He could see more striped tents now, and beyond them a big wheel reached towards the sky. The sky itself was parchment beige, and the big wheel lost its colour as it turned, bright blues and reds fading to browns and blacks at a certain height.

“All clear as far as I can see,” James said, at a more normal volume. “I don’t think we’re back in the real world yet.”

“What gave it away?” Lily demanded.

“The way everything recedes into a pen and ink sketch after a certain distance was a clue.”

“Too bloody weird,” Lily said.

James snorted. “Nowhere near as weird as televisions. How’s the ankle?”

“I can walk on it,” she said. “Not very fast, though.”

“There doesn’t seem to be anywhere to walk to. Seriously, are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Potter. You?”

“Never better,” James said cheerfully. “Could run a marathon, if there was enough space for it.”

“In that case, mate, you want to explain what the fuck you thought you were doing in there? I never asked for your protection.”

“But light of my life,” James said lightly, “To suffer for your sake is a delight beyond measure.”

“This isn’t funny.”

There was a moment of silence, and then James said, sounding older and wearier than Remus had ever heard him, “I’ll tell you what’s not funny. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve told you how I feel over the last few years, and you still don’t believe me.”

“You were joking,” Lily said, sounding terribly uncertain.

“It was a never a joke! I love you, Lily Evans, and I would die for you!”

Lily was silent, and a dry, dusty breeze sighed over them. Then she said, “What if I don’t want you to die for me?”

“I don’t care,” James said flatly. “I’ve given up trying to work out what you want, but as long as I live, I will put myself between you and certain death.”

Lily didn’t say anything, and after a moment James added, more jauntily, “So don’t mouth off to Voldemort next time, yeah? I don’t really want to die young.”

“Then you should stop pissing off the house elves,” Sirius said grumpily. “They will poison you in the end.”

“Back in the world of the living, are you?” James said, with a hint of relief. “Some help you were.”

“Leave you to scream, next time, shall we?” Remus said, sitting up carefully. He had pins and needles in his toes.

A moment later he was floored by Sirius, who dragged him close and whispered into his ear, “You all right?”

“Yeah,” Remus breathed back, hugging him tightly. “You?”

“Better than your mum,” Sirius said happily and Remus relaxed. That was his boy.

“Oy, perverts!” James said. “Let’s go!”

Sirius bounced to his feet, while Remus stood slowly, feeling his pocket. Sure enough, his wand was there.

“I agree with Lily,” he said. “This is weird.”

“Weirder than the pirates?” Sirius asked, grinning. “Weirder than Dumbledore’s dirty, dirty phoenix fantasies?”

“Nothing is weirder than that,” James said fervently. “So, we need to find a way out, and I’d be happier if I knew where old Voldemort had buggered off to? Oy, Pads, am I still allowed to say bugger or does that offend your delicate sensibilities?”

“As long as I can do it, you can say it,” Sirius reassured him, slinging his arm around James’ shoulder and planting a sloppy kiss on his cheek. James yelped and pushed him off. Sirius staggered away, chortling, and then demanded, “Which way, then?”

Remus winced, but suggested, “Towards the big wheel? That seems to be the centre.”

“Spread out a bit, and walk softly,” James said, looking grim again. “Don’t talk.”

They all nodded at him and set off between the rows of tents. The wheezing music of the merry-go-round grew louder as they grew closer, pipe-organ _Greensleeves_ on an eternal, fragile loop.

There was a helter-skelter, painted red and yellow, but with only thin ink lines to show where the slide should be. The ghost train had a building, but only blank space where its doors should be. When they got closer to the merry-go-round, they saw that the horses were still paper-hued, not yet coloured.

There was a flash of dark green to their right and they all swung around. Someone was running away from them between the tents.

Sirius brought his wand down and a nonverbal spell went flying out to trip the runner.

They dashed towards him to discover it was Regulus Black.

He had struggled to his feet by the time they reached him.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Sirius hissed.

Regulus shrugged and looked past him. “Forget about me, Lupin?”

Remus had, to his horror. “You were still inside?”

“Departure was scarcely an option,” Regulus said, fussing with his sleeves. Remus was pretty certain he was trying to hide the reddened marks around his wrists. “Bella will be most unhappy when she discovers I’m not where she left me.”

“Last time we saw Bellatrix she was drooling on Voldemort’s boots,” James said sharply.

Regulus blanched and said, voice croaking with either fear or respect, “You saw the Dark Lord?”

“I imagine he was the danger Bellatrix warned you about,” Remus said carefully. “Regulus was-”

“That is a private family matter, Lupin!” Regulus snapped.

Remus ignored him. “They locked him up for helping Sirius escape.”

“I did not help him!”

“Yes, you did,” Sirius growled.

“I did not!”

“You gave me my wand back!”

“It was a careless mistake,” Regulus said, crossing his arms. “And I wasn’t locked up. I was a willing prisoner, and I would appreciate it if you sent me back to the castle.”

“I don’t think the castle’s there anymore,” Sirius said, shrugging. “You’ll have to come with us.”

“Mum’s going to kill you!” Regulus said, and then looked abashed. “Which is to say, I don’t wish for-”

Sirius cuffed him round the head. “Shut up, you stupid git. Now, do you know-”

With a creaking groan, the Big Wheel stopped turning.

“I say that way,” James said cheerfully. “Now, shut up, the lot of you. Wands out and let’s go! Black Minor, you can come with us or bugger off, but we won’t come looking for you again if we find a way out.”

They moved off again, with Regulus trailing them sulkily.

There was a wide stretch of open land in front of the Big Wheel. It seemed empty as they turned onto it, but then two figures came drifting out from the shadow of the wheel.

“This time,” Bellatrix hissed, “my lord will kill you slowly.”

“Promises, promises,” Sirius called back.

Voldemort took another step forwards, his eyes gleaming red. He began to hiss something.

Then, suddenly, he staggered backwards, his wand flying out of his hand. Bellatrix whirled to help, only to be sent staggering herself.

“I think it’s time to stop this, Tom,” Dumbledore said, stepping forwards. He was still young, but he no longer looked lost in his ornate robes and there was a new note of confidence in his voice.

To their other side, Grindelwald slipped forwards, crossing the bare ground at Dumbledore’s side.

Voldemort stared at them, and suddenly there was fear on his inhuman face. “No,” he said, raising a hand. “This cannot be!”

“You always made your plans too elaborate for your own good, Tom,” Dumbledore said serenely, and lifted his wand. The words he spoke next were none Remus had ever heard before, but the hot sigh and surge of magic were unmistakeable.

The ground around Voldemort started to seethe and stir, pressing up in long lines. A labyrinth of walls and flashing glass began to rise from the quiet earth, surrounding Voldemort and Bellatrix. Within a few minutes, a roof spread slowly across the top and a frontage formed.

The sign over the door read, _Hall of Mirrors_.

“Mirrors are quite marvellous things,” Dumbledore said. “The best of them can force us to realise even the most obscure truths about ourselves. Of course, they are no match for real life, but poor Tom will find it sufficiently time-consuming to escape from his own reflection.”

“I still say we should have killed him,” Grindelwald said, pouting.

“If we sink to the level of our enemies, we have already lost the battle.”

“Well, if you want to keep your aura of sanctimony, I’m quite happy to kill him for you.”

“Dear Gellert,” Dumbledore said chidingly. “Now, he is confined and will not be available to create whatever mischief he had planned, and I’m sure the children all have questions for me? I believe there was a rather charming teashop in the blueprints. Shall we endeavour to discover it?”

“If you start personifying endeavour, adventure or any other concept, I shall wipe your memory again myself,” Grindelwald grumbled. “Lead on, before your wittering proves fatal.”


	30. Chapter 30

Sure enough, there was a little refreshments tent around the corner, with white painted chairs and tables set under a blue canopy. Inside there were wooden benches with leather cushions and a teapot already steaming on the table.

Regulus stopped on the threshold. “I want to go home.”

“Reggie,” Sirius said. “You don’t have to. Come with us.”

“No,” Regulus said. “And you’re a fool for ever leaving. They’ll never take you back.”

“Like I’d want to-” Sirius started, but Dumbledore laid a hand on his shoulder, silencing him.

“If you choose to come with us, Mr Black,” he said, “I will ensure that you are protected.”

“Protected as well as you protected yourself from a de-aging charm?” Regulus asked, shoulders tense. “As well as you protected my brother? I don’t want your protection. I know my duty and I want to go _home_.”

“It’s your decision,” Dumbledore told him, “but if you ever change your mind, just tell me.”

“I won’t,” Regulus said, lifting his chin. “Now, please, I would like to go home.”

“I’ll show him the way out,” Grindelwald said.

“Very well,” Dumbledore said sadly and led them into the tent. “Now, tea all round, I assume?”

“I take it you’ve got your memory back, sir?” James said.

“Oh, I am quite restored,” Dumbledore said, tapping his wand on the table. Six mismatched mugs appeared. “In fact, I had regained my memory before we exited the dream of the phoenix. If Mr Lupin had not felt the quite understandable urge to immobilise me, I could have been of assistance to you earlier. Impetuousness, it is wisely said, is its own undoing.”

Remus blushed and tried to hide behind Sirius. Outside, Grindelwald and Regulus were standing in front of another tent, Grindelwald talking earnestly. Regulus shook his head sharply and turned around to stalk into the tent, and Grindelwald made his way back towards them.

“He won’t be persuaded, Albus,” he said, dropping onto the end of the bench.

“Did you try?” Sirius demanded, tensing beside Remus.

“Boy, you’re talking to a man who ended up building my own prison. Yes, I tried to press some reason on him, but it seems your family has successfully bred out common sense.” He turned to Dumbledore. “The Blacks survive as a living testament to the intellectual weaknesses of the science of eugenics.”

Remus put his hand on Sirius’ thigh, squeezing gently. Nothing good could come of Sirius punching a dark wizard over the tea table. Sirius relaxed a little, pressing his shoulder against Remus and glowering into his tea.

“So, where are we?” Remus asked, as much to divert them as because of curiosity.

Dumbledore beamed at him. Twinkling eyes looked deeply disconcerting in that young face. “That, I must say, was one of my more brilliant improvisations. We are currently within an unfinished sketch which I secreted in my pocket in case of just this eventuality. The world of paintings is full of dangers for the unprepared.” He sighed, a little wistfully. “A shame, really. It was a favourite of mine, but I shall have to give it up. I can scarcely leave it in school when Voldemort is due to emerge from it.”

“Burn it,” Sirius suggested.

He got a disappointed look from Dumbledore, though Grindelwald nodded, and then he sank back against Remus’ shoulder with a scowl.

“I thought it would be best to owl it back to Rodolphus Lestrange,” Dumbledore said. “No doubt he is missing his wife.”

Grindelwald snickered. “A happy reunion will follow, I am sure.”

“What have you done with Peter?” Lily asked. She had been quiet for a while, staring at James with wide eyes.

“Sent him back to the village to tell your lucky professors that they won’t get back into the school until it’s safe,” Grindelwald said. “So, obviously the Black portraits were used to attack the school as a diversion, but-”

“He was supposed to be meeting his Death Eaters at Avebury today,” Sirius said. “And I knew that he was with Bella. That’s why I was trying to find you in the first place.”

“They should have waited two days,” Grindelwald said, with a sniff of disapproval.

“Regulus thought that Bellatrix lost her temper when Sirius escaped,” Remus supplied.

“And that is a story we shall have to hear,” Dumbledore said happily. “Now, hopefully Mr Pettigrew is ready for us now. Let us depart.”

“Back to Hogwarts?” Remus asked.

Dumbledore chuckled. “I think not. You have all earned a rather restful location, I believe. _Exopicturo!_ ”

The fairground faded to white around them. Then with a surge of colour and warmth, they found themselves on a sunlit beach.

Of course, since they had all been sitting down, they all promptly fell over.

“Well, damn,” James said happily. “Home sweet home.”

Remus sat up. Sure enough, across the meadow at the top of the beach, stood the Potters’ holiday cottage.


	31. Chapter 31

“Home!” Sirius shouted, jumping up. “Clean clothes! Clean clothes that fit!” Then he hesitated and added, “No offence to your wardrobe, Moony, but you’re skinny in different places and I am chafing!.”

“No offence taken,” Remus said obligingly. There was warm, fine sand under his hands, and a gentle breeze coming off the sea. The sun was bright, but not as cruel as the desert sun. He could hear the sea sighing onto the shore not far away, and there were seagulls crying. He realised now that he hadn’t heard any birdsong while he was inside the paintings. Lazily, he pushed to his feet, shaking the sand off his knees.

“Ah, the pleasures of the beach,” Dumbledore said happily. “I myself once took regular holidays in Blackpool, but it has been some decades since I last cut the dapper figure I used to be.”

“Albus, you were never dapper,” Grindelwald said with a note of fond exasperation.

“You never saw me in my bathing suit,” Dumbledore said. “Ah, there is Mr Pettigrew, perfectly on schedule.”

Peter, who had just apparated onto the beach, turned to wave at them and then started up the beach. He had shopping bags in each hand, with at least one bottle of firewhiskey clearly visible.

“Excellent,” Dumbledore said. “Let us celebrate our victory.”

“I like that idea,” Sirius said. “But first, clean clothes!” He set off towards the house.

“Wait for me!” Remus called, and James made a little sound of protest. Remus swung to face him, crossing his arms. “Problem, Prongs?”

“I don’t think he needs any help to find his wardrobe,” James said stiffly.

“I wasn’t planning on helping him,” Remus explained. “Not with that, anyway. So, piss off, will you? You have no right to disapprove.”

“You tell him, boy,” Grindelwald said, smirking.

“Don’t stir things, Gellert,” Dumbledore reproached him, which Remus thought was a bit rich coming from him.

James blinked at him for a moment. Then he shrugged and said, “Fair enough. But if anyone gets hurt, I’m meting out justice.”

“Christ, Potter, any more hints of maturity today and I’ll pass out from shock,” Lily said. Then, to everyone’s obvious surprise, she reached out and took James’ hand. “How about you show me this beach, then?”

Remus bit back a laugh and left them to it, hurrying up the garden to wrap his arm around Sirius’ waist. The flowering bushes he remembered from past years were brown and dry, rustling in the breeze.

“Did Evans really just-” Sirius started, pulling him close.

“She really did,” Remus confirmed. “Wonder if Prongs’ll regain the power of speech before she changes her mind.”

Sirius snickered and bent down to fish the key out from inside a battered old welly on the porch. Then he unlocked the back door and ushered Remus in.

The beach cottage was a cosy little place, with sand tracked into the hall and the debris of many holidays stacked in every corner: buckets and spades, sandals with broken buckles, faded and ragged towels. The stairs were narrow and uneven, but Sirius went up them at a bound. Remus, who hadn’t been here since Sirius moved in with the Potters, followed him quietly.

They’d added another room for him, obviously, a sloped little space tucked under the roof with a crooked window and a messy bed. The walls were covered with posters: motorbikes and Quidditch teams. There was a chest of drawers, but there seemed to be more clothes on it than in it.

“Classy decorator,” Remus remarked, crossing to open the window. It was warm and stuffy in here.

Sirius snickered. “You should see what I did to my room in that house before I left.”

Remus dropped down on the bed, stretching. “Oh?”

“I found Reggie’s secret stash of Muggle porn mags. Used unbreakable charms to fix them to the walls.”

Remus laughed, watching in appreciation as Sirius peeled off his clothes, tossing them into a corner. As Sirius, now naked, turned to look at him, he held out his arms.

Sirius huffed with laughter and pushed him down to the bed, climbing on top of him comfortably. “Moony.”

“Hello,” Remus said, groping him lazily. A willing and naked Sirius was rapidly becoming one of his favourite things in the world.

“Can we have sex now?”

“If we do, everyone will know why we’re taking so long,” Remus pointed out, running his hand up Sirius’ spine. “Not that I’m ruling it out, though.”

“Do you think we could be loud enough for Prongs to hear from the beach?” Sirius asked, rubbing his face against Remus’ neck. “You like making noise, don’t you, Moony?”

“I am not going to help you deliberately break James’ brain,” Remus said sternly, turning his head to catch Sirius’ mouth with his own. It was a slow, lazy kiss, with the warmth of the sun pressing against his hands on Sirius’ back and the sound of the sea soft through the window.

At last, Sirius broke the kiss to prop himself up on his elbows and ask, “You’re staying here tonight, right?”

“If you want me to.”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “I want you. You’ll be staying right here in this bed, just like this. Except without the clothes. Your clothes stink.”

“I could take them off,” Remus suggested, arching his back to press against Sirius.

“Then we’d never get out of bed,” Sirius murmured, pushing up his t-shirt, hands roaming across Remus’ chest. “You’re very hairy.”

“It’s not the wolf,” Remus assured him, sitting up to let him roll the t-shirt off. “All the men in my family are like this.”

“It’s funny,” Sirius yawned, and pulled him closer. “Soft. Better than boobs.”

“Thanks,” Remus muttered, rolling his eyes, and then they were kissing again, soft and lazy and content.

In the end, Remus did lose his clothes, and they might not have been loud enough to tear James away from Lily, but they weren’t quiet either. By the time Remus crawled into a borrowed pair of jeans, the sun was low in the sky and the light had a golden tinge which hinted at the start of autumn.

They wandered down the garden, over the dry, yellow grass, hands brushing together. As they approached the start of the sand, Remus heard Grindelwald say, “Back to Nurmengard soon, then?”

“Gellert,” Dumbledore breathed.

“It wasn’t a question. You need to be beyond reproach to win this war.”

“You’ve changed.”

“Not enough,” Grindelwald said. “I’m still not a good man. It would be a foolish risk.”

“I believe better of you than that.”

“You’re the only one. Remember how you learned not to be gullible. I’m still that man.”

“You only look like him.”

“Even when that fades, it won’t change the truth.”

“You know it’s fading, then?”

“Another day or two, if I’m right. A shame. This body is so much more…” He trailed off.

“More?” Dumbledore murmured, voice suddenly husky.

“Much more,” Grindelwald purred. “You don’t have to send me back until morning, do you, Albus?”

“I think we could wait that long,” Dumbledore murmured, and then they were quiet.

Remus blushed as he and Sirius tiptoed past them. They were entwined on the sand, Dumbledore’s red hair pooling over them as they kissed with the familiar tenderness of old lovers.

Peter had built a fire halfway down the beach, and it was blazing in the dimming light. He was dragging a couple of big logs closer as they approached.

“Hullo,” he said. “Took your time.”

“Want to know why?” Sirius offered, grinning widely.

“No! And no snogging!”

“Why not?” Sirius demanded, scowling. “Do you object to me snogging Moony?”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Shut up. There’s just a bit too much of that going on already.” He waved down the beach.

“Well, fuck me,” Sirius said incredulously.

“Later,” Remus said before he could stop himself. Then he looked himself and just gaped.

Lily and James were standing in the sea, water shimmering around their knees, wrapped around each other, kissing slowly.

“Nice one,” Sirius said and sat down on one of the logs, legs stretched out. “Did I hear something about food?”

“Sausages,” Peter said cheerfully. “Baked potatoes. Marshmallows. Usual campfire stuff. Booze. And Dumbledore forked out the cash, so I didn’t get the cheap stuff.”

“Nice.” He reached out and tugged Remus down beside him. “Been a funny few days, eh?”

“Just a bit,” Peter said. “Shall we get the potatoes started?”

A while later, as the sunset turned red, Grindelwald wandered down to sit next to them. He eyed Lily and James, now wandering along the water’s edge hand in hand, with a little snort of amusement, and said, “Albus wants some glasses for the drinks. Do any of you gentlemen know where he might find some? Before he tries to summon some from Hogwarts.”

“I’ll show him,” Sirius said and loped off up the beach.

Grindelwald took his seat, and Remus hurriedly drew his legs in. He might be a disarmingly amusing mass murderer, but that wasn’t enough to absolve him.

“Ah,” Grindelwald said, his lips quirking in a wry smile. “It always strikes me as strange that such a long-lived society doesn’t believe in second chances.”

“Not everyone deserves one,” Remus said, trying to keep his voice neutral.

Grindelwald leaned forward to poke the fire. “I agree with you, actually,” he said, surprising Remus, “but I suspect Albus might quibble.”

Remus shrugged.

Sparks flew out of one of the logs, many-coloured and bright as fireworks. Remus, suddenly feeling uncomfortably rude, added, “He seems to have changed a lot. He was very different without his memories.”

“Yes,” Grindelwald said. “He was.”

Remus looked away, gazing at the sea. He thought of his own home, on the banks of the reservoir, water contained by man, destroying one village to give water to a city. He thought of Grindelwald in Nurmengard and Dumbledore in Hogwarts; of Voldemort and Bellatrix trapped within a hall of mirrors; of his own fear of admitting to his friends that he was gay; of Sirius pretending to be straight; of James finally telling Lily the truth without a joke to dilute it.

Then he looked at the sea, stretching towards the dark horizon, glimmering gold with the last light of the sun, unconfined, vast and free.

He didn’t know what the future held, but he promised himself silently that he would stay free in any way he could. Even if Voldemort won, or the Ministry confined werewolves, he would keep some freedom, even if it was just in his mind.

And, of course, he had Sirius now, who was a fire that could blaze through any prison wall.

“Right, then,” that same Sirius called from behind him. “Let’s get pissed! Oy, Evans! Get your grubby hands off that loser and come and have a drink!”

Lily stuck her finger up, but she and James turned up the beach to join the rest of them.

“I’m afraid we can only stay for one drink,” Dumbledore said as Peter splashed firewhiskey into the plastic mugs Sirius had unearthed from the Potters’ kitchen. “Hogwarts is in considerable disarray and the sooner we get started the better.”

Sirius snickered, and Remus kicked him discreetly.

The night was still warm, and Remus gazed into the flames and wondered if the hills were still burning. Summer must come to an end, he knew, and it would rain eventually. The drought could not go on forever. Even the worst of things had their limits.

Peter was sipping his drink thoughtfully, swirling it in the cup. James was bright-eyed and still looked a little shocked. He kept reaching out for Lily, as if she couldn’t believe she was there.

Lily herself was talking to Dumbledore, something about prefects’ meetings and house rivalries. As James brushed his fingers across her back again, she gave an impatient sigh, grabbed his arm and settled it firmly around her waist. James grinned hopelessly and shifted closer to her, listening to the conversation.

Peter snorted and whispered loudly, “Well, we know who will wear the trousers there.”

“It’s too hot for trousers,” Sirius said sleepily, leaning his head against Remus’ knee. Remus reached down and rested his hand against soft, sleek hair.

The skins of the potatoes were beginning to crisp when Dumbledore said, “None of you have made a final choice of career yet, I believe?”

“No,” Remus said, tensing. He knew he had little hope of getting any paid work.

Lily shrugged. “Professor Slughorn said that at any other time he could have found me a potions’ apprenticeship. Not now, though.”

“Why’d you ask, Professor?” James asked, suddenly alert.

Dumbledore gave them a smile which was at least fifty years too old for his unlined face. “If you are still undecided in a year, ask me again. There may be some work you are all excellently suited for.”

Not long after that, Dumbledore and Grindelwald vanished into the night with soft pops of apparition. Sirius woke up enough to eat sausages, swearing as he stung his tongue. Remus laughed at him and got swiped with greasy fingers.

Then, as James and Lily began to turn their attention back to each other, eyes soft with wonder by firelight, Sirius turned into Padfoot and went racing down the beach to crash into the surf.

Remus left the others by the fire and followed him. The sea was pleasantly cool as he waded in, laughing as Padfoot bounced up to splash him.

By the fire, Peter was blowing on a still burning marshmallow to cool it. Lily was laughing, and James was swearing as he dropped his third marshmallow in succession into the fire. Padfoot knocked into Remus, sodden, barking and exuberant.

Here he had peace, good companionship, and the promise of love to come. If the future held anything better than this, he could barely imagine it, because right here, right now, life was good.


End file.
